


A Light in the Mist

by Mezduin



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Bridging canon gaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mezduin/pseuds/Mezduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anduin Wrynn was gone in Pandaria for a long time, and we only got to see one or two glimpses of his adventures. This is my interpretation and exploration of what he was probably doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings are in the notes at the bottom of each chapter, as applicable.

“Well, I suppose that’s it, then.”

The Prophet turned his head to look at the human that stood next to him. Idly, he noticed that he didn’t have to look quite as far down as when they’d first met. A smile found the Prophet’s ancient face as he regarded the man that the Prince of Stormwind had become.

Although he’d just spoken, Anduin was staring out over what he could see of the Exodar. He regarded the scene fondly, as if he was looking over his own home city, his own people. Velen supposed, in a way, the Draenei were Anduin’s people. At the very least, Anduin (somewhat secretly) considered everyone on Azeroth to be his people, especially if they were to one day unite against the Legion.

“I’m done packing my things, and… Admiral Taylor is here.” Anduin turned toward his mentor and smiled warmly, although the sadness in his eyes did not go unnoticed. “I’m going to miss it here. I’m going to miss training.”

“Your training will never cease,” Velen chided gently. “No matter where you are, you will always-”

“Always follow the path of the Light.” Anduin grinned as he interrupted - something that never ceased to amuse Velen. Of all of the people the Prophet had met, the Anduin was one of the few that truly embraced the idea that everyone was equal under the Light. “Yes, Velen.”

The Prophet rested a hand on Anduin’s shoulder, and it felt so light, despite being so large.

“You have done very well,” he offered quietly. “You will do very well in the future.”

"That means a lot,” Anduin murmured, but broke from his solemn mood with a soft chuckle. “For more reasons than just your ability to see the future.”

They shared only a moment of soft laughter before Velen calmed, then turned fully to face Anduin. He motioned for the young prince to do the same and rested a hand on Anduin’s forehead when he complied. For one horrible moment, Anduin anticipated another vision, but, instead, Velen withdrew his hand and then placed it over Anduin’s heart. Almost immediately, Anduin could feel the gentle warmth of the Light flow through him, and he embraced it readily.

“Light be with you, Anduin Wrynn,” Velen murmured quietly.

“Light be with you,” Anduin returned, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Prophet.”

“I want you to remember something, young one.” Anduin turned an inquisitive gaze up to Velen, whose face seemed to suggest that he was going to say something of the utmost importance.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Not all who wander are lost.”

Anduin was just about to question why he had to remember _that_ of all things when two men - Royal Bodyguards - approached him. Knowing his time was up, the Prince bowed to his mentor, said his goodbyes, and left with the bodyguards.

Simply put, he was less than enthusiastic. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go home - he loved Stormwind and missed it dearly. However, Anduin wanted to stay in the Exodar and continue his training. At home, he didn’t do much, unless something wild and eventful occurred, and it seemed like any time _that_ happened, he risked losing his father.

The closer he got to the ship, however, the more and more Anduin anticipated getting home. As much as he loved his training, he was very homesick. The Exodar was a comforting place, filled to the brim with the Light and friendly faces, but Stormwind was - and would always be - home.

Anduin waved to the sailors on the boat, but didn’t get in their way, as they were all preparing to shove off for Stormwind. Instead, he found a nice out-of-the-way spot to stand, leaning against the edge of the boat as he watched everyone running about, doing their respective duties. He wanted to help, but they never allowed him.

Instead, he watched and let his mind wander. He thought of his Father, whom he wanted desperately to see again. He thought of the war, which he wanted desperately to end. He thought of the ship ride he was about to take and how he actually enjoyed the idea of the long boat ride. Some would call it boring, but Anduin found it rather relaxing.

Throughout all of it, Anduin’s thoughts kept drifting back not to Velen’s words, but the way he’d said them. The Prophet had uttered an otherwise normal greeting with such gravity that Anduin never doubted their importance. He couldn’t, however, figure out just what about them was supposed to be so meaningful.

As he thought, Anduin lifted a hand to feel at the silver locket that rested against his chest, right over his heart.

“Not all who wander are lost…”


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn sets sail for home, but what was supposed to be a relaxing journey turns out to be anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the notes after the chapter.

_The trip, so far, has been boring, but boring is good. Admiral Taylor likes to say that boring is better than dead sailors. I suppose he would know that very well._

_I can see him struggle with his anxieties. I don’t know if the rest of the crew can, although I would be surprised if they couldn’t, but I’ve noticed how he occasionally fidgets with anticipation. I’ve seen how he relaxes at the end of the day - another with no dead sailors._

Anduin leaned back in his chair, holding his pen over the fine leather journal on his desk. They’d been out to sea for a few days, by that point, and nothing had happened at all. Not even a minor injury. For the most part, Anduin was perfectly fine with the boredom. He’d brought books - a lot of them - to keep him occupied, so he at least had something to do.

During one of his first voyages back to the Exodar - on a Stormwind ship - he’d tried to help out wherever he could. He knew he wouldn’t be capable of assisting with any of the hard, more dangerous work, so he tried to fill in the gaps whenever he could. However, no matter what he tried, he was met with “No, your Highness, it’s not befitting a Prince to do such work”; “Young Prince, you could get hurt! It’s too dangerous”; Or his favorite, from Admiral Taylor “Get out of the way, Highness. I don’t need your father yelling at me because you lost an arm.”

It didn’t take too long for the Prince to stop trying altogether, instead keeping himself to his room. Although, he did pop in to sick bay somewhat frequently to see if he could put any of his skills in first aid or healing to work. Normally, he was only turned away if someone was sick. However, on that particular voyage, he’d been turned away for lack of people to tend to.

That brought him back around to thinking about Taylor’s restlessness. It was no secret that the man had been affected by his experiences in Vashj’ir, but he wouldn’t have been allowed to stay on a ship if he were so anxious all of the time. That was just what was bothering Anduin, however; he had never seen Taylor so nervous.

The young prince was broken from his reverie when his stomach let out a loud, angry growl. With a heavy sigh, Anduin rose to his feet and closed his journal. He’d had dinner but a few hours ago, and he was already hungry again. Sometimes, he cursed his growing body and looked eagerly forward to a day when he’d grow out of the “eat everything in sight” stage. Then, he would remember his father’s appetite and wonder if he would ever really break free of it at all.

No point in starving himself, however. He was still a growing young man, after all. So, Anduin strode over to his door and opened it, bracing himself for an argument. The bodyguard at his door didn’t move, and for a moment, Anduin was confused. Slowly, he brought a hand up, waved it in the guard’s face, and when he was met with no response, he chuckled, lightly. The man had fallen asleep at his post.

For a moment, he considered waking the guard, but he decided there wasn’t much point. He was safe on _The Vanguard,_ and the guard deserved a break. It couldn’t possibly have been pleasant - or easy - to stand in one spot for hours on end.

  
Besides, he was only going to the ship’s dining area. What could possibly happen, there?

When he got close to the dining room, Anduin heard voices. Loud ones. It wasn’t hard to recognize them as drunken sailors, and while Anduin didn’t fear the sailors on board _The Vanguard,_ he knew that drunken sailors weren’t to be trifled with. He came to a stop outside of the dining room and poked his head through the doorway.

There were three sailors in the room. There were two Humans - men - and one Worgen - a woman. The two men had their backs to Anduin, but the Worgen was facing him. Thankfully, at that moment, she was focused on downing a good portion of her drink.

She slammed her tankard down on the table, and Anduin ducked out of the doorway. It occurred to him, suddenly, how ridiculous he was being. They were just sailors - drunk or not - and Anduin was hungry. What would they care if he just walked in and-

“Boring means no dead sailors, he says!” the Worgen snarled and, judging by a faint scraping noise, slid her tankard across the table. The two humans laughed, but didn’t otherwise reply. “Boring means no dead sailors! I mean, I get that!”

Anduin couldn’t help but inch out, to look into the room, again. The Worgen wasn’t distracted with her drink, any more, but she seemed a bit too inebriated to focus on the men in front of her, much less Anduin, himself. Her teeth were bared in annoyance.

“No dead sailors means the same for them Hordies!” She snapped her teeth together and growled. “What I wouldn’t give for a damned battle! A good fight! I’ll take as many of ‘em out as I can!”

Suddenly, Anduin recognized her. Her name was Jenny Bernard. He’d traveled with her, before. She was almost always on Anduin’s ship, when he traveled between Stormwind and The Exodar. She was a tall, black-furred Worgen, with wild hair and fierce eyes. Despite her savage look, she had a kind heart - or, at least, she always had a kind word for Anduin.

That was not the Jenny he knew.

“You know the Prince is on board, right, Jen?” one of the males piped up, and the other leaned back and let out a booming laugh. Both men were silenced, however, when Jenny lashed forward and struck the man’s tankard from his hand. It bounced off into the now-quiet dining room.

“I don’t need none of your lip, Giles!” she roared. “I know the Prince is on! I’ll wait ‘till we shove off, again, if I have to, but if I don’t get to dig me teeth into no Orc necks before long, I’ll lose me damned mind!”

She stood so swiftly, the bench upon which she was just sitting was knocked back to the floor with a loud bang and clatter. The two men flinched, but remained as still as possible.

“You’ll do good to keep your damned mouth _shut!_ ” The snarl was directed at Giles, but when the second man snickered, she whirled around and snapped her teeth together just short of his face. “ _That goes for the both of you!_ ”

Anduin surprised himself with how calm he was. His heart was beating fast, but he was mostly just startled by Jenny’s outburst. He was, however, concerned. She wasn’t acting like her usual self, and he wasn’t sure if it was the drink doing the talking for her. He would have to talk to her, later.

Anduin was snapped from his reverie when Jenny moved, striding around the table and heading out of the dining room - right at him. As swiftly as possible, he ducked out of the doorway and pressed up against the wall. A furious, drunken Worgen was headed his way. Worse yet, it was the mention of Anduin, himself, that had apparently set her off. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think.

Jenny ducked her head to avoid hitting it on the doorway as she exited the dining room, then turned down the hall to leave. She barely managed to avoid brushing against Anduin as she walked. With some apprehension, Anduin noticed something off. There was no sway in Jenny’s step. She walked steadily, and when she stopped in the middle of the hallway, it wasn’t to steady herself on any nearby surface.

But why had she stopped? Anduin was just about to call out to her, to ask her if she was alright, when she turned her head and sniffed at the air. Rather immediately, she whirled around and trained her eyes on the young Prince’s form. Anduin froze, seeing a look in her eyes that he was sure was reserved to her enemies. She was focused. She was glaring.

“Jen-”

She lunged forward, cutting the distance between her and Anduin to a very frightening few inches. Anduin leaned back, flattened himself against the wall behind him, eyes so wide open, he was afraid they might pop out.

“I’d watch your back, if I were you, young Prince,” she rumbled, her voice quiet, but very, very deadly. The stench of alcohol wafted so thickly from her mouth that any of Anduin’s uncertainty over how much she’d had to drink were squashed immediately. All Anduin could do was nod shakily, eyes squeezed shut.

When he finally opened his eyes, Jenny Bernard was striding away, still with barely any sway to her step. Anduin didn’t want to question that, any more. He just wanted to get his dinner and hide in his room.

“Crazy bitch, that one,” came a voice from the dining room. Right. The sailors. The one that wasn’t Giles was speaking. Anduin didn’t recognize him.

“Oi, watch your mouth,” snapped Giles. “She’s on edge, just like everybody else.” Anduin heard some shuffling about, and imagined that Giles was on his way to pick his tankard up. The young Prince took that moment to inch over to the door and peek back into the dining room.

Giles Potts was a huge man. Sailors often joked that it was a pity he hadn’t been turned into a Worgen, as he would have been a truly frightening creature. Giles never had a comment on the matter. Anduin assumed he was rather glad he hadn’t been afflicted.

“On edge don’t excuse slapping a man’s tankard.” The second man snorted at his own joke. He was turned away from the door, watching Giles as the man picked his tankard up and wiped off any dirt it might have gathered. “It don’t excuse getting that mad over the Prince, neither.”

“I said watch your mouth, Nick!” Giles turned sharply, and Anduin ducked back behind the wall.

“What? She wants to bring a fight here?” the second man - Nick - snapped. “The Prince is on board! What d’you think would happen if a fight came our way!? He’d get slaughtered, and that ain’t no good!”

“She’s just as worried as you are, Nick, and you bringing it up only pissed her off.”

“Worried… right.”

A very uncomfortable silence befell the trio. At least, it was uncomfortable for Anduin. He decided he’d had enough of eavesdropping, pushed away from the wall, and took a moment to compose himself. He strode in with confidence and smiled to the sailors.

“Evening!” he chirped, and the two men looked up. Giles only nodded at Anduin, a melancholy look on his face, although he seemed glad to see the Prince. Nick, however…

“Evening, Prince!” His voice was just as chipper as Anduin’s had been. The blond smiled, glad that Nick was so happy to see him, even if it was a bit confusing. Then again, he’d been so concerned about his well-being, earlier… “What brings you this way?”

“Well, dinner, actually!”

“Well pull up a seat! We’ll treat you to the best food you’ll find on board!”

Nick gestured wildly, motioning for Anduin to join them, and even Giles smiled and chuckled quietly.

—-

_Despite what I had witnessed just before, dinner was very pleasant. It was good to see Giles again, and Nick is a very nice man. I’m glad to have met him._

_Pleasant or not, I can’t help but keep worrying over what Jenny said to me. “Watch your back.” Was it a threat or a warning? Perhaps she was only drunk and angry? Perhaps the restlessness and boredom finally got to her?_

_That still isn’t bothering me nearly as much as what happened just after dinner._

Anduin had finished eating and conversing with the two crew members. He was in very high spirits and heading back to his quarters. However, he paused when he saw Admiral Taylor standing on deck, staring out over the ship, clearly deep in thought. He was fidgeting nervously with something.

“Admiral?” Anduin called softly as he approached the man’s side. Taylor nearly jumped out of his skin, but calmed himself as quickly as possible when he turned to look at Anduin.

“Highness. Do you need something?” He hid his nerves behind a mask of mild frustration at the Prince’s presence.

“You looked troubled. I thought I would offer some assistance.”

Taylor stared down at Anduin for a long moment, and his expression wavered. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Admiral Taylor broke down and allowed himself just a moment to show how he really felt.

He looked miserable.

“Something’s just not right, Highness,” he rumbled, then turned away to stare out over the ship, once again. Anduin glanced that way, wondering if he was indicating something, but turned back to Taylor when he saw nothing plausible.

“What do you mean, Admiral?”

“Something’s not right. I have a bad feeling.” He turned to stare down at Anduin and frowned deeply. “You should be inside.”

“Why?” Anduin furrowed his brows and tilted his head. “I’m perfectly safe out here, Admiral.”

“I don’t want to have to explain, Highness,” Taylor snapped. “I have a bad feeling, and I want you to go back into your room. Should that not be enough reason for you?”

Anduin stared at Taylor for one long moment. The man had a habit of being short with him, but the anger in his voice… The Prince knew it had to stem from nerves, from whatever the “bad feeling” was.

“No,” Anduin replied softly, but offered an encouraging smile. “I’ll go back to my quarters, Admiral. Perhaps you should get some rest, as well.”

_Admiral Taylor had no response, and so I left feeling more on edge than I had before dinner._

_I am not certain what Taylor is afraid of, if he’s even afraid of anything in specific at all. It seems he’s just nervous, because nothing has happened yet. As I recall, nothing bad has happened to him - on a ship, at least - since what happened in Vashj’ir. Perhaps he simply feels that he is “due” for a disaster?_

_Whatever the case. I hope his worries are unfounded._

—-

That night, Anduin slept comfortably, even after all of the tension of the day. He dreamed of nothing, and woke up feeling refreshed and energetic.

Unfortunately, he was refreshed and energetic for a day of doing nothing. His meals were brought to him earlier than usual, giving him almost no chance to head to the dining room to eat. When he asked why, his guards only responded with “Orders from Taylor.”

It was frustrating, but not enough to warrant breaking the rules. Anduin spent most of his time in his quarters, anyway, reading and trying to keep himself entertained.

Fortunately, he’d brought more than enough books to keep him occupied. Unfortunately, he couldn’t focus on any of them. He was far too preoccupied by the previous day’s events and the feeling of dread that had settled itself in his stomach.

He’d read the same line in his book about ten times before he finally gave up. He puttered around his room, trying to find something interesting to do. For a moment, he entertained the notion of writing in his journal, but what was there to write about?

He flipped back through the pages, reading over his own writing, then sighed and closed his book.

Nothing. There was nothing.

—-

Anduin awoke with a start when a commotion erupted on deck. Above him, Anduin could hear hurried footsteps and hushed yells. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he knew it was something he’d want to learn about.

He hopped to his feet and hurried to his door. Without hesitation, he pushed it open, and he was very surprised to find no resistance. He glanced over to where his bodyguard was posted, only to find the man slumped back, again. Strange that he would sleep through such a commotion.

Anduin paid it little mind, choosing, instead, to continue out onto the deck of the ship to see what was happening.

Many of the sailors were gathered and staring off in the same direction. Some pointed. Some whispered. Anduin moved through the crowd to try and get a better look.

He came to a stop next to Admiral Taylor, who was staring out into the darkness through a spyglass. A frown was set deeply into his face. He was gritting his teeth to the point where Anduin could see the muscles in his face tensing and relaxing repetitively.

“Admiral?” Once again, Taylor jumped out of his skin. He whirled on Anduin and glared fiercely at him.

“What in blazes are you doing out here, Highness!?” he snarled. This time, Anduin anticipated the reaction and showed no surprise of his own. “It’s dangerous!”

“Dangerous how?” Anduin barely got the question from his mouth when the spyglass was thrust into his hands. Taylor pointed. Anduin looked.

It took him some time of staring into the darkness before he could see it, and even then, he saw it just barely. Through the darkness and the fog, he spied a shape and a few floating lights. The shape tilted, listed, and moved very slowly, inching its way over the ocean.

“Taylor-?”

“Take our flag down!” Taylor snapped, whirling on his sailors. When no one moved, he clapped his hands and shouted. “Now!”

Everywhere, sailors burst into action, even though it only took a couple of them to take down their flag - the one readily advertizing their status as an Alliance vessel. It took Anduin a moment to understand just why they were removing such a thing.

The ship in the distance was of the Horde.

“Douse any lights! Now! Do it quickly!”

Anduin remained still as everyone moved around him. He watched the ship, feeling an odd sense of detachment from the situation. Fear was at the forefront of his mind. A Horde ship could mean a naval battle, and he wanted nothing less than more casualties. Still, it didn’t seem real. Just like when he heard about what happened at Theramore. Anduin felt as if he was reading a book, and he’d set it down at any moment. He’d put the book down and go attend dinner with his Father.

But the reality hit him all at once. The ship - the shape in the distance - could spell disaster if it spotted them. One ship. Just because Anduin was aboard _The Vanguard,_ one Horde ship could mean a devastating blow to the Alliance’s morale.

Could, Anduin reminded himself. It _could_ mean a devastating blow. Admiral Taylor was taking the proper steps to keep them from even making a close call.

One moment, Anduin was looking through a spyglass at a ship in the distance. The next, he couldn’t breathe, the spyglass was on the deck in front of him, and he was being wrenched back, stumbling through the darkness on the ship as someone dragged him back, a step, and then whirled around, so that he was facing the rest of the ship.

Admiral Taylor held a hand up and shouted, called for everyone to be quiet. He hoped dearly the sound wouldn’t be heard across the waters, but he would rather risk a naval battle than watch the Prince’s blood spill across the deck.

All around him, the sailors quieted, turned to face the one who’d grabbed Anduin. They watched as Anduin kicked and struggled, as the fight drained from him.

“Sailor, what the hell are you doing!?” Taylor snarled, hand still held in the air, signaling for the sailors to hold their positions. “Let the Prince go. Now.”

The sailor laughed, a deep, frantic rumble in his chest. His grip around Anduin’s throat relaxed, the Prince desperately gulped down lungfuls of precious air. Taylor relaxed somewhat, but kept his hand raised.

“Why should I!?” the sailor yelled, his voice cracking. He was shaking, although holding Anduin firmly. The young Prince seemed to be struggling to regain his bearings on the world. Taylor had no doubt in his mind that - once he had - Anduin would be able to extricate himself from the situation. If not, he had men who could handle it just fine.

Where _were_ Anduin’s bodyguards?

“You know why you should,” Taylor growled. “Let him go.”

“Or what? Die!? Just like I’ll die at the hands of the Horde, if they hear us!?” The man laughed and pulled something from his belt - a gun. He pressed the barrel to the side of Anduin’s head, and the Prince went still, his eyes wide.

“Exactly.” Taylor snapped. “And the Horde _won’t_ hear us, as long as you shut your damned mouth and let the Prince go!”

“You remember Theramore!” Suddenly, realization dawned on Anduin. He recognized the voice of his attacker. Nick. The sailor that had been so pleasant to him just the night before… “You remember what they did! You remember how many died! We don’t stand a chance!”

“Then what the hell are you planning!?” Taylor was growing visibly more and more frustrated by the moment. “What do you think this is going to accomplish!?”

“Easy!” Nick laughed and stepped closer to the edge of the ship, dragging Anduin with him. “I turn the Prince over to the Horde, and they let me and my family live. Plain and simple!”

“You daft moron!” Taylor snarled. “That won’d to any-”

Nick pulled the gun away from Anduin’s head. He aimed toward the sky and shot - a flare. Anduin watched as the bright, fiery red blotch flew up into the sky, screaming. A beacon.

Another shot was fired, but not from Nick. Suddenly, the sailor lurched backwards, pulling Anduin with him. They fell to the deck, and before Anduin could really register what had happened, he was wrenched away from the sailor.

As he was shoved around, brought to Taylor’s side, Anduin turned and looked down at the body of his attacker. Of Nick Wakefield, the man who may have just doomed them all.

Admiral Taylor was already barking orders, sending people all around, to their proper stations. The Horde ship was already turning, lumbering toward them and ready to fight. Once enough people had been directed, Admiral Taylor turned and stared at Anduin. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but fierce.

“Get inside. Now.”

“What?” Anduin glared back at the Admiral. “No! Let me help!”

“You’ll help by getting back to your quarters, Highness!” Taylor snarled, clearly lacking the patience for the Prince’s antics. “You’ll help by making it hard for the Horde to know you’re here!”

“I’ll not sit idly by while my people fight and die for me!”

Taylor went quiet, studying the Prince with narrowed eyes. To say the least, he was impressed with Anduin’s fortitude. The fact that he’d just stared death in the face, and was practically begging to do it again wasn’t something expected of royalty. He was, truly, his father’s son.

“The battlefield is no place for a prince,” he finally growled. As impressed as he was, he wasn’t about to budge on the issue. He turned, intending to leave the issue behind as he strode away to tend to other things.

But Anduin followed him.

“It’s no place for a King, either!” the young man snapped. “And yet no one ever stops my father!”

Taylor stopped and turned sharply to face Anduin, who managed to halt just short of running into the Admiral.

“ _You_ look him in the face and tell him to back down.”

“I have,” Anduin growled, scowling up at the man. In that instant, he looked the spitting image of King Varian Wrynn. “Successfully. What’s your excuse!?”

Not one to be outdone, Taylor leaned down, bringing his face close to the Prince’s.

“I’m not his son,” he rumbled. “He doesn’t care what I think. Now get inside!” Taylor straightened up, and Anduin was grabbed roughly by a very large man. He looked over his shoulder to find his bodyguard - the one that hadn’t fallen asleep - wrenching him away from Admiral Taylor, down into the ship, toward his cabin.

“Unhand me!” the Prince snapped. “Unhand me at once!”

His bodyguard said nothing. Instead, the man pulled Anduin’s door open and shoved him into the cabin.

—-

_The battle is more fearsome than I could have imagined._

Anduin sat, hunched over his desk, as he wrote. His anger had subsided almost immediately when he was thrown into his room, replaced instead by regret and sadness.

If he were only stronger - like his Father - he’d have been able to get away from his bodyguard. He’d have been able to help. Perhaps that was why no one kept him from the battlefield?

_All around us, I hear the booming of Horde artillery._

It shook him to his bones, but not as much as the sounds that came from the sailors.

_Their shells rain upon the deck above, and the screams of the crew are drowned out only by the roar of return fire._

The screams were mostly orders, shouts about what they were doing, where they were going. Necessary communication to remain well functional in battle, especially where heavy artillery was concerned.

However, every once in a while, Anduin could hear it - a scream of pain, a cry of terror. The people on board were making sounds no mortal had any right to make, and Anduin was not out there among them.

He could have been helping. He was a Priest. He could heal! He could make shields! Even if he was only able to attend to one person - save one life - it was worth risking his own. And yet, he felt conflicted. If something were to happen to him, what would the people do? Not only would morale take a severe hit, people would outright panic.

No Anduin meant no Crown Prince of Stormwind. No Prince meant that Varian would be the last surviving Wrynn. If something happened to him…

And yet still his blood burned to be out in the fight. He felt so selfish.

_Admiral Taylor bade me hide here, in the hold, until the fighting ceases._

He didn’t even know why he was writing, at that point. It felt pointless. Anything that wasn’t actively helping out on deck felt pointless, but writing gave him something to do.

_They have posted guards outside my door._

_I feel restless. I should be out there, helping them!_

Anduin huffed, aggravated again, and closed his journal. He pushed back from his desk and took to pacing the room. It didn’t do much to help, either. Not only was it just as unproductive as writing, it seemed to only serve to build up his energy, rather than burn it off.

With a frustrated yell, Anduin threw himself to his bed.

Sleep took him much more quickly than he expected.

—-

When he awoke, Anduin sorely wished he’d gotten the wonderful, dreamless sleep that he’d been gifted with, the previous night. Instead, his dreams were haunted by screaming, explosions, gunfire and thunder. Actual thunder.

A storm had broken out before the battle had ended. In fact, the storm was what had ended the battle. Both ships had escaped one another, trying to survive the storm and lick their wounds at the same time. It was not going well.

Once the battle had finished, Anduin managed to escape his room and rush to the sick bay - and the few rooms that had been converted into makeshift sick bays. Almost immediately, Anduin had been given orders, and he took to them as quickly as possible.

As the only Priest on board, Anduin was delegated to the more severe injuries, which he tended to as well as he was able. Unfortunately, as much as the Light had taken to him, he was not an experienced healer. He stabilized many - it was all he could do, to save his energy - but even then, their outlook wasn’t good.

The ship wasn’t made for extensive battle, like the Horde’s ship was. They didn’t have the supplies to tend to a number that was nearly half of the entire crew. Then, of course, because they were down sailors, they couldn’t withstand the storm as well as they would have, otherwise.

Anduin moved among them with confidence, healing as much as he could, but also relying on more mundane methods. He bandaged, stitched, sang, and prayed his way through the injuries.

After hours of work, one gave him pause.

“Anduin Wrynn!” croaked a patient - a Worgen. A female. It took Anduin a few moments to realize just who he was staring at.

“Jenny?” he rasped. “Jenny!” He realized all too suddenly that he was holding his hands over her abdomen, or… what was left of it. “Jenny, what happened!?”

“I took a bunch of them out,” she croaked again. “Killed me my share of Hordies. Prince, I need to tell you something.”

“Later, Jenny,” Anduin soothed, quickly. “When you’re better.” He turned to her stomach, looked over the gaping wound. The more he inspected, the more his own stomach sank. There was no way…

“I’m sorry for scaring you, the other day.” Blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, and Anduin suddenly wondered how much of it was hers. “I knew Nick was up to no good, I did. I just had no idea how to say it. I was-”

“Drunk,” Anduin finished for her. “Jenny, don’t speak…” He brought a hand up and rested it on her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have nothing to be sorry for,” she murmured as her eyes slid closed. “You remember that, Prince.”

He wanted to stay with her, to be at her side as her breathing slowed, but he had to move on. He murmured a quick, quiet prayer for her and rose to his feet, then moved on to the next patient.

For hours, Anduin encountered more and more patients just like Jenny. Either their wounds were so severe, he couldn’t hope to help them, or they’d waited too long, and were far past the point of being saved. His night became a long string of failures.

When someone noticed his flagging energy, his waning confidence, they moved him on to more minor wounds. He set bones, he cleaned gashes. It was less bleak, more uplifting, but still painful in its own way.

Hours after he’d woken up - Anduin had no idea the amount of time that had passed - the young Prince moved among the medics, looking for the ship’s medic. When he’d been through each of the rooms assigned to sick bay, and he hadn’t found the man, Anduin flagged down the nearest sailor to ask.

“The medic,” he rasped, his own voice sounding alien to his own ears. “Who is the ship’s medic?”

The sailor’s face turned from curious to sympathetic, even hurt. He rested a hand on Anduin’s shoulder.

“No one, my Prince,” he murmured. “It was Hawkins, but he was swept overboard last night, in the middle of the battle.”

Anduin stared blankly at the sailor, either not able or not willing to accept what he’d just heard.

“Wh- who is the… ship’s medic?” he managed again, and the sailor only bowed his head.

Vaguely, Anduin recalled the first time he’d met Neal Hawkins, medic of _The Vanguard_. The man had promised that, if Anduin got bored, he’d be allowed to help out in the sick bay, as long as the work to be done wasn’t hazardous to his health. He’d never gotten to take Hawkins up on his word.

In a gut-wrenching moment, he realized that, in a way, he had.

“Why don’t you go get some sleep, my Prince?” the sailor offered, his voice quiet. Anduin nodded, and someone took him by the elbow and led him from the rooms of injured sailors. After what felt like an eternity of walking, Anduin’s bodyguard ushered him into his room and closed the door behind him.

He stood in the center of his room for a long stretch of time. Numbly, he lifted his hands and stared blankly down at them. Suddenly, Anduin was brought back to a collapsed brewery in Kharanos. He was kneeling in the snow. Silence pressed in from all around him. It directly contrasted the warmth and noise of the stormy ocean - of his cabin in the ship. As if to equalize the moment, his legs gave and he fell hard to his knees.

One thought sprang to the forefront of his mind.

Why was he always too late to save his friends?

The protective blanket of numbness fell away all at once, and in that moment, Anduin Wrynn wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: Character death (OCs), death, flashbacks, PTSD symptoms violence, blood, mild gore


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more peril befalls The Vanguard, and Anduin Wrynn finds himself very, very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the notes after the chapter.

He felt numb.

He knew he should have felt something, considering he was watching the bodies of dead sailors- dead _friends_ \- getting thrown overboard. He knew he should have felt grief or guilt or horror, but he stood on the deck of _The Vanguard,_ feeling just as numb as he had at Magni’s funeral. Some part of him, at least, felt guilt over his lack of reaction, but it barely registered in his mind.

The only thing that was managing to break through the haze of his own distance was a grounding hand on his shoulder. Admiral Taylor had been a constant presence once he’d left his room. Originally, he’d wanted Anduin to go back inside for this, but the young Prince wouldn’t have his people deal with such a thing alone.

The pile of bodies was larger than Anduin had anticipated - at _least_ half of the ship’s crew had been killed in the scuffle. On top of that were bodies of Horde members. Most of _those_ had been tossed just after the battle, but those that were left over - Horde prisoners that had succumbed to their injuries - were being pushed overboard as well.

Anduin wasn’t entirely certain why they had prisoners, but they hadn’t sank the other ship. He didn’t think about it too much. Instead, he simply stared blankly ahead as body after body dropped into the ocean below.

He’d already given them their last rites. That had been harder than trying to heal them in the first place.

“Anduin…” Taylor’s voice was quiet as it reached his ears. The young Prince inclined his head slightly, to signal that he was listening, but he did not look away from the fallen sailors. “It isn’t your fault. The battle was fierce.”

“Indeed it was,” the young man murmured, but said nothing else. Taylor quieted, apparently not knowing what to say, and his hand fell away from Anduin’s shoulder.

The last body fell into the water, and Anduin closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath.

“Light be with them,” he murmured. Taylor glanced down at the young blond. He didn’t look quite so young as he had ten minutes ago, much less two days before.

With a heavy sigh, Anduin turned, aiming to head back inside, but something caught his attention.

He saw faces. The sailors that were still alive - and capable of standing - had turned to watch him. Some had tears streaming down their cheeks, some held a stony sort of pain in their eyes. Some showed nothing, but they all had one thing in common. They were looking to Anduin with pleading eyes, looking for guidance.

He couldn’t allow himself to be upset. His people needed him.

The young Prince remembered, some time ago, giving his first speech to the people, and how embarrassed he’d felt to hear them cheer for him. He noted how different it was - how important, but not embarrassed he felt for them to look to him as a figure of authority. He wasn’t a young boy for which they felt pity. He wasn’t a figurehead, given a position in name and nothing else. He wasn’t a useless leader, empty of authority.

He was their Prince. And they needed him.

He took a deep breath.

“I know it looks hard,” he began, his voice clear and strong. “I know we’ve lost a great deal, and I know it looks bleak, but we can’t allow ourselves to be overcome by grief. Do not dismiss your feelings of pain and loss. Please, do not bury them, but do not let them overcome you. They are symbols that you had something so wonderful, you couldn’t bear to lose it.

“Good men and women died, today. Good men and women died, yesterday, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that no more go with them. No more will fall, be it to sickness, steel, or sorrow. We must all do what we can to make it home. We must keep our hope, because if we don’t, we’ve already lost.”

He hesitated, casting his gaze around to the crew of _The Vanguard,_ making eye-contact with as many as he could. They all, in turn, showed him that they believed him. They understood. They agreed. He smiled.

“I have faith in you,” he continued. “I have faith in all of us. Together, there is nothing we cannot do. Short-handed and wounded, we will make it back to Stormwind with our heads held high.”

No cheers erupted from the audience - the tone of the event was still too sour. However, one sailor - another Worgen, short and ginger - stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee. In turn, each sailor that wasn’t too busy either bowed or knelt to the Prince. Taylor clapped his hand onto Anduin’s shoulder.

“Well said, lad,” he murmured, and when he continued speaking, his voice was louder - an authoritative bark. “ _All right,_ you sentimental idiots! We don’t have time to be bowing to the young Prince! Get back to your stations - and if you don’t have a station, it’s for you to go and _sleep!_ Let’s go!”

The crowd - as small as it was - dispersed, and Taylor rested his hands on his hips, apparently happy with how quickly they all hopped to action.

“Fools, the lot of them.” Taylor turned to Anduin, his mouth pressed into a thin line and one bushy brow arched as he examined the young man in front of him. “You look like hell, lad. Go and get some rest.”

Anduin smiled and shook his head, ever fond of Taylor’s rough exterior. Not many could see through to his softer side, but Anduin - at least - knew it was there.

“Not the sentimental type, are you, Taylor?” he asked, raising one golden brow.

“I’ll be sentimental when my feet are on solid ground.” Taylor set a hand on Anduin’s shoulder and started to lead him toward his cabin. “For now, Highness, you get some sleep.”

—-

_I never thought I would be thankful for things to become boring, but I can now safely say I can fully and completely understand Admiral Taylor’s outlook._

_I suppose, however, it would be inaccurate to call this boring. It’s simply… quiet. To employ a cliche: too quiet. The Horde ship simply disengaged when the mist fell away, and we have no idea where we are. The navigators are doing their best to figure something out, but the mist is thick and impenetrable._

_I can only hope it parts, soon._

—-

Anduin crossed his legs as he settled down on his bed. Sitting up straight, he rested his hands on his knees and took a deep, soothing breath. He tried to meditate daily, as it made him feel refreshed, helped to keep him calm. Unfortunately, over the last few days of chaos, he hadn’t gotten much of a chance to.

It felt good just to sit in the familiar pose, and just the thought of being able to take a moment was helping Anduin feel better. All it took was to tilt his head back slightly and to even his breathing. Once he’d done that, he stretched out with his consciousness, calling to the Light, asking it softly to come to him. As always, it did. He felt the familiar soothing energy start at his forehead and heart and slowly spread outward, through his entire body.

The sensation it caused was always very strange. Anduin felt some bizarre mix of being acutely aware of his body, but also detached from it. It felt almost as if the Light was filling his mind and body separately. The security and comfort it awarded him with was perfect for relaxing, praying, or thinking over questions or problems he had.

That particular night, his thoughts turned to those aboard _The Vanguard_. He asked the Light for their safety and protection, for a successful journey home. He asked for no more casualties. He prayed for some relief from the madness that had been the last two days.

—-

He was awoken the next day by the loudest, most terrible noise he’d ever heard. It sounded like thunder, but louder, more powerful. It didn’t take him long after sitting up to realize that the entire ship was shuddering and listing to one side.

There was only one thing that could have caused that. They were running aground.

The Prince leapt to his feet and - still in his bedclothes - rushed to his cabin’s door. At first, he stumbled. The floor was uneven, tilted slightly to the side. They were _definitely_ running aground, and that meant people could be getting hurt. If people were getting hurt, Anduin needed to be outside to _help_ them.

Unfortunately, when he got to the door, it wouldn’t open. He ended up slamming into it, full-force, because he couldn’t turn the handle. He stared, wide-eyed and horrified - at it and tried it once more.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he called. “Let me out!”

“I’m sorry, Prince Anduin,” came the familiar voice of his one remaining bodyguard - the other died in the storm. “It isn’t safe. You need to stay inside.”

“In a shipwreck!?” Anduin tried to turn the door’s handle again and pushed against the door. “Let me _out!_ ”

That time, there came no answer. Anduin stared, horrified, at the door, and then slumped against it, trying to think. Why would he have been locked inside of his cabin? That was more hazardous to his health than letting him out on deck, surely?

Just as he thought the words, screaming erupted on the deck. Over the din, Anduin could just barely make out Admiral Taylor’s authoritative voice, but he couldn’t make out what the man was saying. All he could hear were screams and shrieks that sounded almost inhuman as well as the sounds of battle.

Slowly, he backed away from his door. He suddenly understood why he’d be locked inside.

Never one to sit idly by, the young Prince hurried to get dressed, in case he would be let out into action. He gathered some things and put them together, where he could grab them quickly at a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately, he found himself utterly helpless. Again, he was stuck in a room while he listened to his own people fight and die. However, he knew there was nothing he could do, so he tried to remain as productive as possible. Having already dressed for the day, there wasn’t much else he could do, so Anduin resorted to writing in his journal. It served, at least, to calm him.

The screaming and fighting went on for what felt like hours. In reality, he was sure it was closer to several minutes, but the screams were unbearable. What stood out the most were the cries of pain. They stood out through the low din of battle - at least in Anduin’s ears. Each one brought a slight wince to his face, a shudder to his shoulders.

There were a lot of screams.

All at once, the sounds of fighting stopped. Screams continued, but faded swiftly. In the ensuing silence, Anduin felt some relief. The sounds had been torture. The battle was over. He perked; that meant that he would be let out, and he could help tend to the wounded!

Anduin rose from his bed and returned to the door, waiting eagerly for his bodyguard’s return. A minute ticked by, and Anduin furrowed his brows. Surely, they would let him out for the aftermath? At the very least, a shipwreck was _dangerous,_ and he would need off of it before the ship did something like collapse beneath him.

Soon. Surely, soon, he would be let out.

Two minutes passed, and Anduin was very worried. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest, again. At three minutes, Anduin moved to the door to test the handle again.

Once five minutes had passed, even Anduin’s endless patience was wearing thin. It was then that something occurred to him. The silence in his cabin wasn’t what the end of a battle sounded like - there were no cheers of victory, nor were there calls for help, medics, or the Admiral. There was silence.

He pressed his ear to the door. There was nothing. No sounds. The ship wasn’t even creaking. Anduin shifted his attention, hoping to hear some signs of wildlife, but even those seemed to have gone completely quiet. The young Prince stepped away from the door, brows furrowed.

Boring meant no dead sailors, but silence signaled quite the opposite.

Something broke the silence - a creak, and then an impressive, concussive _crunch._ Anduin cringed as the floor moved beneath him, lurching and pitching him downward. He tumbled back and slammed hard into the wall of his cabin.

The floor had tilted. More than it had during the initial crash, anyway. Anduin cringed and forced himself to his feet as he rubbed at his back, which was what absorbed the brunt of his collision with the wall. It was wet and sore, and it did not mean a good start to the day.

Wait. Wet?

Anduin whirled around and his eyes widened. Slowly and steadily, water was seeping up from the corner of his room. It would fill the cabin, given enough time.

He couldn’t have that.

—-

_The Vanguard has washed up on an unfamiliar shore. The ship is still, and all around me, I hear silence._

_No one has come for me, and I fear the crew is dead._

Anduin cringed lightly to himself as he wrote the words. He glanced back toward the water level. It was only an inch or so deep, but that was enough to worry him.

_The cabin is filling with water, so I must find a way out soon._

He took a deep breath and held it. Writing was taking up precious time, but he knew he needed to do it. If he died, whoever found him would need to know what had happened.

Anduin finished writing and snapped his journal shut. He rushed to his bed, where he’d gathered his things, and set the journal atop his satchel. He’d need to find a way out of the cabin before he did anything else.

He turned his attention to the door. That was the most obvious answer, as his cabin didn’t have any windows. The young Prince approached the door to examine it closely. It seemed as if it had suffered some structural damage from the listing of the boat. Perhaps he could jar it open, himself?

He took a few steps back and eyed the door. He remembered, once, seeing his father contest with a jammed door in the Keep. He’d managed to knock it open with ease. All it would need was a good, solid impact, and he could break it open. He angled his shoulder toward the door, trying to judge just where he needed to hit the door and with which body part. Once he felt he’d lined the shot up perfectly, he bolted at the door.

And slammed right into it. A frustrated, pained cry escaped him as he fell back on his rear. Anduin turned a petulant glare up to the door. It looked so weak, and yet he couldn’t break it down? He was sure his father could have.

Anduin’s shoulders sagged. His father wouldn’t have been made to stay inside for a battle, either. His father never would have gotten himself into such a situation.

He shook his head. There was no sense in thinking that way, especially since the water was creeping closer to him, faster, now. It already reached halfway across the room, although it was still technically shallow. That could change soon.

Perhaps if the impact of running aground didn’t jar the lock too badly…

Anduin rose to his feet and hurried to his satchel. Within moments, he’d produced something he wasn’t entirely proud of owning - a set of lockpicks.

Perhaps it was best not to think of things as his father would have done them. He needed to start thinking along the lines of what he could _actually_ do.

Anduin returned to the door and knelt in front of it. He ignored the quiet splash his knee made as it connected with the water. At least, he ignored it at first. Anduin turned to glance to the corner of the room. In the time it had taken for him to grab his lockpicks, the water had spread another few inches.

He needed to work fast, but not too fast. He was an amateur lock pick at _best,_ and he couldn’t allow himself to get nervous. If he jammed the lock, he was done for.

His shoulder throbbed.

“All right, Wrynn,” he murmured to himself. “Remember what SI:7 taught you.”

First, he employed something he always knew - and something Velen taught him to perfect. He tilted his head back and focused on breathing, calming himself without asking the Light for aid. Once he’d steadied his furious heartbeat, he returned his attention to the door in front of him and began to work.

Anduin Wrynn worked diligently for what felt like hours. It couldn’t have been, of course, but with each mistake, he’d cursed softly and tried not to glance toward the water level. He needed to keep a level head and not worry. Worrying lead to mistakes. He needed to get the door unlocked so he had a shot at surviving.

Of course, he couldn’t think quite like _that_ either.

“Light guide me,” he murmured as he started again, going through the motions he’d learned slowly and deliberately.

When the lock finally clicked open, Anduin let out a triumphant laugh and tried to hop to his feet. He found the motion _very_ difficult, as he was up to his chest in water. He frowned deeply, feeling some mix of fear that the water had risen so quickly and pride that he’d focused so well, he hadn’t noticed it.

“Now,” he began, rising to his feet through the weight of the water. He tried to brush the itchy nervousness from the back of his mind. “To get out of here.”

He waded through his cabin to grab his packed satchel and journal. Then, he hurried from the place as quickly as he could.

Below deck, Anduin saw no signs of the fight. That was to be expected, at least. He dreaded what he’d see upon rising up above deck. His feet slowed to a stop when he emerged into the last room below deck. He stared up at the stairs and glanced around.

He hadn’t drowned in the cabin. That was good, but he couldn’t stay by the wreck. However, he knew _The Vanguard_ would be the first thing help would look for. Honestly, he’d anticipated that. He looked to the journal in his hands, then glanced around the room. He spotted a crate, which was where he decided to rest his journal. With the letters ALW emblazoned on the front, it would be hard to miss as being his.

He turned his attention to the stairway and ascended.

_If any Alliance soldier finds this, know that I, Prince Anduin Wrynn, am alive._

_I am going to travel inland and search for food and aid._

_Please tell my father that I am well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: death, threat of drowning, isolation, claustrophobia


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Anduin doesn’t return home, Varian’s world is thrown for a loop. Meanwhile, Anduin explores this new land and tries to make use of what minimal survival training he’s had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the notes at the end of the chapter.

The Wrynn family was no stranger to nightmares, be they the waking horrors of a war-torn world, or scenes, feelings, and deep-rooted fears that would creep their way into what were supposed to be the restful hours of sleep. It had been a long-standing “tradition” of sorts, one they didn’t share with the public, of course.

Varian dreamt of many things, although most nights were taken up by memories of the past. He remembered Tiffin; he remembered being Lo’Gosh; he remembered Lady Katrana Prestor, despite his best attempts not to; and he remembered watching his father die. Over and over, trapped in his own mind, he relived such horrible things until he was forced to wake and never return to bed, that night.

Sometimes, he dreamt of futures that might happen, and futures that - in all logic - _wouldn’t,_ but that scared him, nonetheless. While Anduin was gone training with the Draenei, Varian dreamed repeatedly of shipwrecks, of attacks, of unpredictable alien equipment exploding, and of all of those things taking the only heir of Stormwind - of Varian’s only family - away with them.

He never once _actually_ expected one of those nightmares to come true, and yet, just earlier that day, he’d been standing out on Stormwind’s docks, watching for the familiar sails of _The Vanguard_ , for the long-awaited message that Anduin was _home_ , safe in Stormwind’s walls once more.

But it never came.

What did come, however, was the report of a _wreck_. Varian had rushed to the map room to receive the report in person, fear pulsing through his veins and pushing him to run faster than he should have, faster than was proper in such a situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He stood, hunched over the table-sized map of Azeroth, glaring down at a small, red marker and listening as Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth recounted the scene of the gore-slicked wreckage of a ship, crushed on the coast of Stranglethorn Vale. He tried to breathe steadily, utilizing methods that - he realized with a twinge of pain - Anduin had taught him. By the time Jes-Tereth was concluding her report, his hands were cramping from how hard he was gripping the table. Either she didn’t notice, or she didn’t say anything.

“We’ve made a thorough inspection of the wreckage, your Majesty.” As she spoke, her voice never lost its official tone. Varian thought he could hear an edge of sympathy, but he willfully ignored it. “There is no sign of Admiral Taylor… or his ship.”

A disorienting mix of relief and fury rose in Varian’s throat, and it came out in a venomous snarl.

“Two hundred ships at my disposal, yet the _one_ carrying _my son_! Goes missing!” Without looking up, he brought his fist into the air and sent it crashing down against the table, watching as little ships, outfitted with blue and gold sails, fell to their sides with a decidedly unsatisfying rattle. “What of their last message? Show me whatever you have.”

Up until that moment, a tall, lithe Night Elf had been standing as silently as a shadow, awaiting his orders. When Varian spoke, the Night Elf nodded his purple head and turned, swiftly making his way to a brazier and casting a spell. Blue light flickered to life, and then an image - generated by magic - of Admiral Taylor rose above the smoky Light. The image - standing with tense posture and gesturing firmly - spoke.

“We have been drawn off course! Horde air fleets! Many casualties!”

As the image of Taylor spoke, Varian stepped closer. The Night Elf stepped out of his way, his feet making no sound against the stone floor of the Keep.

“Shipwrecked! On an uncharted isle! But the White Pawn _is_ accounted for! Repeat: The White Pawn _is safe!_ ”

Another wave of relief overtook Varian, although this time it wasn’t tainted by fear.

“Anduin…” he murmured. His son was safe. Admittedly, he was on an uncharted isle who-knows-how-many miles from Stormwind, but he was surrounded by guards, accompanied by Admiral Taylor. Varian couldn’t think of someone he trusted more to-

“SURPRISE ATTACK!” The image of Taylor screamed, and Varian’s gaze shot up, his eyes widening as Taylor became frantic, leaning close to the device he was speaking into to rush his words out as quickly as possible. “Requesting immediate-!” He glanced to the side and stepped back, already readying himself for battle. “A- Anyone to assist-!”

The message ended, the image of Admiral Taylor dissipating into a fine blue mist that swirled soundlessly in the small brazier. Varian glared at it, as if willing it to rise again and give him more information.

“Sir!” The Grand Admiral spoke up, suddenly standing _just_ behind him. Idly, Varian thought she was very lucky. Just a year or so ago, speaking so suddenly from behind Varian was nearly a death sentence. “The Seventh Fleet has already been dispatched, but it could take weeks before it-”

“There’s no time to waste!” Varian whirled, pushing past Jes-Tereth and the Night Elf, both of whom swiftly stepped out of his way. The King paced to the other end of the room, needing to keep in motion as thoughts and worries swirled through his mind. Was Anduin safe? Was Anduin still With Taylor? Was Anduin injured? “We’ll send a small, elite force to secure this new land-” He whirled again, narrowing his eyes directly at the Night Elf - one Rell Nightwind of SI:7. “And _bring back my son_.”

—-

Anduin hesitated at the top of the stairs and glanced back toward the ship. He should have gone back for more supplies, searched the boat while he had the chance. In fact, he was about to head back down the stairs when there was a sudden, loud _crack,_ and the entire boat lurched beneath his feet.

_It won’t be safe,_ he thought as he just barely caught himself from pitching off of his feet. He furrowed his brows, catching sight of the rising water. _It definitely won’t be safe._

With a heavy sigh, Anduin turned and climbed the rest of the way onto the deck of _The Vanguard_. He emerged cautiously, ascending the stairs as carefully and as quietly as he could, just in case the battle wasn’t as over as it sounded. Honestly, it was a long shot, but if Anduin had learned anything in his life, it was that - in some situations - it was impossible to be too cautious.

What he saw wasn’t the battle he feared, but rather the aftermath he expected. The deck was splattered with blood and bodies, remnants of a brave and worthy crew, and Anduin’s heart ached to see them, but he quickly schooled the feeling away. Thankfully, he was suddenly hit by a few observations, which served as perfectly good distractions.

Firstly, there weren’t many bodies scattered around at all. While that _seemed_ good, Anduin wondered where the rest of the crew must have been, if they weren’t dead on the deck. Why hadn’t someone come back for him? There was no way someone could forget about the Crown Prince, himself…

Secondly, of the several bodies scattered around, only one or two were from the Horde. Most of the bodies - and really there were about twenty - were from _The Vanguard_. Anduin could only think of a few reasons as to why that would be. Either more Horde happened upon them, and whatever force had attacked them had received unexpected and useful backup, or they had run aground near a Horde settlement and help came from there.

As he thought, Anduin began picking his way slowly down the deck, avoiding blood and bodies as well as he possibly could, given the circumstances. And what circumstances _were_ they, exactly? Whether the Horde was supported by sea-, air-, or land-based backup, _surely_ someone would have picked over the wreckage of the ship in the aftermath. Anduin would have been found, by that point. Honestly, he would have already been on his way to the Warchief to face punishment for the crime of being the Alliance Prince.

Anduin paused where the ship dipped into the water and looked over the edge of the boat. It would be a slippery climb, but he could make it onto land without having to swim his way out and get soaked in the process. It was during that observation that he noticed yet another confusing discovery.

Crates were bobbing in the water or washed up onto the shore. Supply crates. From _The Vanguard_. Some were whole, but all of them were untouched, leading to further cause of Anduin’s confusion. What army made a crushing victory over even a small portion of their enemies’ people without taking some supplies, especially in such a sparse time as theirs? Was the Horde growing strong enough that they no longer needed to take supplies from the enemy? But why risk the enemy recovering the supplies in the first place…?

Anduin shook his head and climbed up onto the side of the ship, then hopped over. The sand crunched and sank lightly, satisfyingly under his feet. He was glad to be back on solid ground.

The young Prince momentarily abandoned his curiosity over the Horde in favor of trying to figure out where he _was_. It was, after all, the more immediately important information.

The beach, it seemed, was flanked by the ocean and cliffs, which rose in platforms, where grass and trees grew, before rising starkly again, behind them. The trees, themselves, were utterly unfamiliar to Anduin. Thin stalks that grew tall, reaching up into the sky, with clumps of leaves occasionally fanning out, then bursting from the top. And they were so _green_! It made the trees back in Elwynn Forest look downright _sickly._

Bright orange mushrooms dotted the landscape, and short, scrubby bushes accompanied them. Anduin had wondered, back on _The Vanguard_ , if they had run aground in Stranglethorn Vale, but the foliage… he’d never even seen an artist’s _depiction_ of them, and he had buried himself in so many books, studying the world in case he one day got to go on an adventure like he’d dreamed…

He’d always thought he would be prepared when it finally happened, and the absurdity - the _perfection_ \- in not knowing where he was hit Anduin, and all he could do was laugh. The young Prince brought a hand to his face, leaned back against the boat, and his laughter rang out across the beach, echoing off of the cliff walls. Nearby, the sound startled a turtle and a few snails back into their shells.

Steadily, Anduin calmed, soon remembering both the issues immediately at hand, and the ones that were possible down the line.

“Well,” he mumbled to himself as he cast his gaze around the beach, still leaning back against _The Vanguard_ as he thought. “ _Someone_ needs to make use of these supplies…”

As Anduin lacked the tools or the strength to be able to get into sealed crates, he was forced to pick through ones that had been smashed against the rocks. Unfortunately, that had rendered most of the supplies useless. He _did_ manage to find two water skins, some flint, and a blue cloak, which were not only _not_ ruined, but would almost certainly prove useful to him, later on.

There was quite a good deal of food that had been utterly ruined, most of which by animals and bugs swarming all over it. If there was one thing Anduin could say for certain, it was that the local wildlife was abundant. And efficient.

After scouring several crates and finding nothing further, he decided it would be more productive to be on his way, rather than spend time sifting through supplies he couldn’t use. Anduin shouldered his satchel and looked around the beach, wondering just where to go. After a moment, he simply picked a direction and started walking.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long before Anduin found a slope, which he climbed quickly, eager to be off of the beach and away from the ocean. It was a quick jog up the slope, which curved carefully to one side, as if to make itself more compact… Anduin furrowed his brows as he stood atop the cliff, and with one last glance down toward _The Vanguard,_ he headed into the forest.

—-

“Your Majesty? What are you doing?”

Varian turned from where he was inspecting a naval chart to find Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth staring at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The King straightened up and leveled a stern look in return.

The most infuriating thing about the Grand Admiral was that she was not bothered, in the least, by Varian’s anger, even when it was leveled directly at her. Then again, that attitude was why she’d made it to Grand Admiral in the first place.

“I am going to find my son,” he growled, his voice more of a feral rumble than actual words. Jes-Tereth apparently understood him just fine, as she crossed her arms over her chest. The only sound in the room was the faint clanking of her armor.

“I’m _sure_ I don’t have to tell you why that is a terrible idea?” Her voice was stern, angry, with not even a hint of her earlier compassion. She was not intimidating by build. No, she was a short woman, slight in frame, but strong enough to wear full plate armor, somehow. She made up for her lack of stature with an overabundance of personality and force. Varian had seen men twice her size cower under her cold stare and snarled words. Her eyes were hard, and while Varian could recognize and respect the unwavering will of the leader of Stormwind’s navy, he cared not about it, in that moment.

“You would stand between me and my _son_?” He squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, bringing himself to his full size, instinctively looming over the Grand Admiral. She didn’t flinch.

“I would stand between the Alliance and _destruction_.” Her own voice was a growl. Jaina Proudmoore had learned not to give in to Varian’s rage, to speak to him calmly to dissuade his temper. Now that he had control of Lo’Gosh, Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth found she achieved good results when she challenged Varian’s rage on its level. As such, she charged into an argument with him, fully aware that there would be no actual fight: merely posturing, snarling, the human equivalent to baring teeth and raising hackles. “You are the _King_. We need you here, not running around on some unknown continent on a _wild goose chase-!”_

Varian screamed - _howled_ , almost - and made toward Jes-Tereth. She had no time to consider a defense before he pulled back sharply, stopping himself from outright attacking the woman. Instead, he clenched his fists and turned, slammed his fist through the nearest table. The resounding _crack_ of the wood snapping beneath Varian’s monstrous fist rang just barely louder than the King’s scream, but Jes-Tereth held her ground, never once flinching beyond a widening of her eyes.

“He is my _son!_ ” Varian yelled, apparently placated by the outburst, but only somewhat. “This is no _wild goose chase_.” He turned his head, leveling a glare at the Grand Admiral. “He is the _Prince_. The sole _heir_ to the throne. He is _ev_ -”

“We don’t even know if the Prince is _alive,_ your majesty!” Perhaps it was too harsh. Jes-Tereth felt a twinge of guilt when Varian recoiled, his eyes widening as if he’d been punched squarely in the gut. He turned, quickly, but seemed to try and pretend he was surveying the wrecked table. “We need to send SI:7 and _only_ SI:7. They are trained _specifically_ for these tasks. They’ll be able to find Anduin swiftly and with very little trouble.”

“If he’s alive,” Varian added, his voice quiet. He looked back up to Jes-Tereth, and she could see him silently pleading with her. He didn’t want her to say it, and for a moment, she grappled with her answer.

“If he’s alive,” she finally confirmed, with a nod. “It would be best – for you _and_ Anduin – if you stay here and focus on Stormwind.”

That seemed to get through to Varian. He nodded quietly and strode from the room, brushing past two servants who were cowering on either side of the doorway, clearly debating with themselves over whether or not it was safe to enter the room and begin cleaning up. Once Varian was gone, however, they rushed in to begin working.

The Grand Admiral sighed and brought a hand up to rub at her face. She was no stranger to getting tough with her underlings – or her family, for that matter – but there were certain things she hated doing. Taking such a cheap shot against the King himself wasn’t something she felt good about, but it least it kept him in Stormwind.

—-

Anduin was having a hard time deciding whether he was in a forest or a jungle. The place was humid, the air heavy and verdant. The greens reminded him of images he’d seen of Stranglethorn Vale, not the trees he’d grown up around, in Elwynn Forest.

It was during that exact pondering that he came across something that could prove very helpful. Ruins. They looked like they had once been the corner of a building - two crumbling walls, stone worn smooth from years of weather, meeting at one tall corner. They stood at the edge of the cliff, just barely visible from the ship below.

The path upon which Anduin was walking brushed right up next to the ruins, and Anduin happily jogged up, around to the side of the walls, wondering if more of the building was in-tact. He was only somewhat disappointed to find that only a few pillars remained, nothing quite as large as the one corner. It must have been very sound, structurally, or it was properly blocked from the elements by the surrounding cliffs.

Anduin approached what looked to be a ruined archway, an entrance into whatever the place once was. He ran his gloved hand along the rock as he cast his gaze up and around, momentarily forgetting the direness of the situation to look, in awe, upon the world of which he was blessed to be a part.

Anduin was _just_ about to begin puzzling out the ruins’ origins when he looked forward to find a very large mushroom in front of him. (He reserved the qualifier “giant” for the mushrooms he’d heard about on Outland, in Zangarmarsh.) Still, it was huge - nearly Anduin’s height - and it was bright orange, practically glowing in the dim surroundings, but it wasn’t actually giving off any light. It was one of the ones that he’d seen from a distance, on the beach.

Carefully, the Prince skirted around it, taking care not to disturb or touch the fungus. He’d heard, once, that brightly-colored mushrooms were toxic, but, then, he’d also heard quite the opposite. He opted to play it safe and not go near the thing, just in case.

Upon entering the small clearing and taking a better look around, Anduin could see statues. The light was dimmer in the forest than it was on the beach, but he could see the vaguely Draenei-shaped statue that was missing a head and one arm. And, if it _was_ a Draenei, it was missing a tail and hooves, as well.

There were chunks of rock littering the ground - perhaps parts of the statue in the clearing, perhaps parts of statues that were otherwise long-gone. He knelt in front of one large boulder to focus on it, unable to help but think he might have been wasting time. Then again, if he could properly identify the statue, he might get a good idea of where he was.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. Anduin saw a face, with large, pointed tusks jutting out from the bottom lip. For a moment, he believed it to be Orcish, but the rest of the face told him otherwise. Large, curled eyebrows, long, pointed ears, and a particular art style he’d never before seen were indicative that they were… Well, at the very least, not Orcish.

The statue was of nothing he’d ever seen, before.

Before Anduin could take time to ponder about that, a faint sound reached his ears. Steadily, it grew louder, and it didn’t take Anduin long to recognize thundering footsteps and inhuman howls. He stood up straight and whirled around, trying to discern the direction of the charging group.

Something in his head told him it would be a _better_ idea to hide. He decided to oblige. Near one of the still-standing pillars, Anduin spied some bushes. Those would have to do. He rushed for them and caught only a glimpse of the oncoming mob before he ducked down into the bushes. Thankfully, because they were right up against the wall, he had a large layer of rock between himself and the path, and the bushes hid him from every other angle. He took the time to say a quick prayer of thanks for that as he listened to the howling - _screeching_ \- come closer.

The sounds shook him to the bone, made his teeth rattle and his hair stand on end. The cries were bloodthirsty, _furious,_ a low rumble punctuated by screeches and sharp cries, and Anduin pressed himself as close to the pillar as he could. The ground _shook_ , and when the mob finally approached close enough to rush right past his hiding place, he had to cover his ears to shut the din out.

The minutes dragged by, each one ticking by as slow as they possibly could. The sounds were so loud, they were almost deafening even as Anduin tried to protect himself from them. After an eternity, the sound began to die off as the creatures - whatever they were - finally began to move away. Anduin sighed softly, rested his hands on the pillar in front of him, and closed his eyes, listening as the unholy noises grew quieter and quieter, eventually disappeared, entirely…

Except, they didn’t disappear. With time, they had grown quiet - very quiet - but it was clear that the mob had stayed somewhere nearby, screeching and hollering. Anduin couldn’t tell if the screams were purely animal in origin, or if the creatures were speaking to one-another in an unknown language. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out.

Anduin stayed huddled in the bushes and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to leave his hiding place until he couldn’t hear the creatures any more - until they either left or went to sleep for the night. However, he knew he had to do _something_. There was no sense in hiding and wishing his problem away.

He had two options: He could either take advantage of knowing the creatures’ location and run for it, or he could try and get a good look at them, to figure out what they were. If they were in any way familiar, he might be able to puzzle out where he was.

Anduin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to see them - he didn’t want to know what they were doing - but he had to try. Slowly, he made his way out from behind the pillar and glanced around the path, to make sure no creatures were hanging back, keeping guard over the ramp leading back into the forest.

Slowly, he slid his satchel off of his shoulder and looked out through the bushes, surveying the ruins. There was an area between one of the big walls and a statue. He could crawl there and probably be able to see the beach, maybe even _The Vanguard_. It would have to do.

Anduin steeled himself with another deep breath and ventured forward, scurrying out from the bushes, making a straight line _right_ for the statue. Terror gripped his heart. He feared that there may be other creatures hanging back, standing by the ruins as lookouts.

_Honestly,_ he chided himself as he came to rest next to the statue’s legs. _I don’t even know if they’re hostile. I’m getting too worried… Then again, they sounded a lot like whoever was fighting at The Vanguard._

Anduin crept from the statue, further out over the cliff. There was a nice outcropping, where he could get a fairly good view of the shipwreck. It felt exposed, as he’d crept away from the ruins and the trees in the forest, but he kept low, laying out on the cliff to keep himself as hidden as possible as he looked out over the wreck.

The creatures weren’t any from the Horde, nor the Alliance. They were huge, furred things, with long, lanky limbs. From the distance, they looked almost like apes, creatures he’d only read about, but knew to be native to Stranglethorn. He knew, however, he wasn’t _in_ Stranglethorn.

They were swarming the shipwreck and the beach surrounding it, rifling through some boxes and throwing the others in the ocean - or at each other. They didn’t seem to be fighting amongst one-another. Rather, they seemed to be playing, celebrating in the face of - Anduin realized with a sinking feeling - victory.

He needed to get closer. He _had_ to see what they _were_. Anduin glanced at the cliffs around him, realized that his best bet was to get back to the ramp.

He ran for it, suddenly terribly motivated, knowing that he wasn’t about to see anything pleasant, but… he had to know. He had to see if he could discern _any_ answers from what was happening on the beach.

Within a matter of minutes, he was crouched by the thin, smooth trunk of one of the forest’s trees. A cluster of small, scrubby bushes surrounded it. Just like in the ruins, they did well to hide him, and the ledge - part of the sloped path that traveled along one side of the cliff - provided him with the perfect vantage point.

There, he could make out light brown fur, large, pointed teeth, and even face paint on the creatures. Some wore armor, others carried weapons. If Anduin focused, he could tell that some of the sounds they were making were grunts and growls, even what seemed to be words, but Anduin couldn’t understand them.

The young Prince sat back in the dirt and leaned against the tree. It all pointed to what he’d known for a while. It forced him to accept the reality. He had no idea where he was.

—-

Thankfully, the preparations hadn’t required any more of the King’s presence. Varian had delegated the tasks amongst Jes-Tereth and Rell Nightwind and fled the area. If he couldn’t be a part of the mission, itself, he didn’t want to be a part of the long-winded preamble. The Grand Admiral knew what resources she had to work with, and she knew how to not overstep her bounds.

Thankfully, Admiral Taylor had been smart enough to send more information than just _words_ with his last message. The very nature of the spell projected… _something_ that Varian didn’t quite understand, but it allowed a mage to use the message to track down the location of the sender at the time the message had been sent. Otherwise, “an uncharted land” would be nearly impossible to find.

With a heavy sigh, Varian made his way through the keep, hoping to find something that would keep him distracted. The last thing he needed was to dwell on his son’s well-being until word was found. Even if the SI:7 would take faster than _weeks_ to reach this new land, it would certainly take days… and even then, Anduin might not be found right away. Even if he was, he might not be found uninjured. Or whole.

Or alive.

Jes-Tereth’s words echoed through his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would help keep them away.

Before Varian knew what he was doing, he found himself in the kitchen. Only a few servants were scuttling around, getting things prepared for that night’s dinner. They still had quite some time, but Varian had long since learned that some meals took an entire day to put together, even if they weren’t for a special event.

He spied a bottle on a table, and before he gave himself a chance to resist, he’d grabbed it and hurried away. Within minutes, he’d closed himself in his study, sat down, and was in the process of working the cork from the bottleneck when a familiar voice halted his thoughts in their tracks.

_Drinking won’t solve your problems, Father_. It wasn’t Jes-Tereth, that time, but rather the memory. Of Anduin. The Prince had caught his Father drinking in the middle of the night to wipe his latest nightmare away. It hadn’t been working, and Anduin could tell.

“Does it ever work?” he had asked as he helped his father into a chair in the dining room, prying the bottle of alcohol from his hands and replacing it with a glass of water. Varian hadn’t been sure of where Anduin got the glass. Were there servants around? He didn’t remember noticing any at the time.

“Of course it does,” had been his reply, slurred through half a bottle of something _very_ strong. Varian wasn’t sure what it was. Hadn’t been sure when he’d started drinking it, either.

“Really?” Anduin’s voice had been so calm and understanding. He didn’t sound judgmental or even disappointed. That made it so much worse. “Then why do the nightmares keep coming back?”

Varian remembered turning up to Anduin, staring, shocked, at the young man’s face. He hadn’t thought Anduin knew about them. Then again… what was the young man doing awake in the middle of the night? He remembered brushing the thought off. Anduin must have heard him. He must have woken the young man by being too loud or something. He was big. Wasn’t exactly _sneaky_.

“These aren’t something that just… go away,” he’d reasoned, aware of the desperate note in his voice and trying his best to push past it, to keep his face stony and angry, so Anduin wouldn’t notice.

Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t. All Varian knew was that his son just smiled patiently to him and helped him back to his bedroom, so he could get some sleep. When Varian had awoken the next morning, there was more water and some tea by his bedside, along with a note, written in his son’s familiar, neat handwriting.

“Peacebloom Tea is very good for headaches. Feel free to sleep in; I have you covered.”

Presently, he put the bottle down, unopened, and closed his eyes.

—-

Hours after climbing down to watch the monkey-creatures, Anduin was slogging through a bog, the tails of his cloak trailing through the mud and water, staining the masterfully made gold edges a sickly brown. His shoes made a light _squelch_ with every step, either due to the water they were filled with or the mud beneath them. Or both. How he longed for real _travel_ boots.

It was not his idea of a fine time. However, it was much better than what could have happened.

He hadn’t spent too long watching the monkey-things, choosing instead to get on his way while they were distracted. He hadn’t gotten too far down the path before another group of them barreled down, apparently to join their friends at the wreck of _The Vanguard_. Anduin, having no immediate hiding place, had rushed off to the side, through thick bushes and trees, and by the time he’d run far enough away, he couldn’t hear the creatures, he’d lost the path entirely.

Chiding himself as he walked, Anduin tried to focus on his goals, what he was doing. He thought of finding civilization, perhaps - and he knew he was stretching - a human town, where they would welcome him, take his cloak and let him relax. Perhaps he’d stretch out by a fire in a nice, warm inn that would have stew prepared for the guests. He could almost _smell_ the spices, the meat cooking. His mouth watered.

_How heroic,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts. _Lost for a day, and already I can’t stop fantasizing about home. Father would be so proud._

Anduin rolled his eyes and sighed. There was no sense in getting angry about it, and so, to calm down, he decided to stop for a bit, to lean against one of the thicker of the forest’s trees. He tried to ignore the way his feet sank slightly into the mud where he stood.

He remembered, vaguely, being a child and running to one of the Keep’s courtyards after a rain. He dove into the mud - despite Wyll’s attempts to keep him out - and played for what seemed like hours. Wyll had decided to stand back and watch, to make sure he didn’t try to _eat_ any.

His Father had appeared at some point, and he was horrified to find Anduin covered almost head-to-toe in mud, terrified he’d get sick, but his heart - according to Wyll - melted when Anduin offered him one of the “gourmet mud pies” he’d apparently been slaving away over. Apparently he’d insisted he’d worked so _hard_ on them, and he was affronted when Varian turned them down.

He did remember his Father lifting him from the mud and laughing when some of the servants insisted it wasn’t befitting a King and a Prince to be so filthy. Varian didn’t care, so neither did Anduin. They spent some time later, together, drinking tea while Varian told him stories that he’d _insisted_ were true, but, on reflection, seemed like fairy tales. Mostly because they involved Varian going out and slaying “not one, but three dragons!” Bolvar, of course, was keen to interject that they were “probably just lizards.”

A smile spread across Anduin’s face. Those were good days, back then, when Anduin couldn’t understand politics or the gravity of any given situation. They were certainly nice times to reflect upon, although Anduin wouldn’t choose to go back to them, necessarily. He _did_ wish his relationship with his father could return to what it once was. They rarely fought, back then.

Anduin’s face fell as he stared down at the mud, watching a fire fly zip around, making careless loops, contently exploring its surroundings. Anduin sighed and lifted his gaze, looked around the area to make sure nothing was coming at him. Of course, he couldn’t be certain that something like a tiger _wasn’t_ lurking around, waiting for him to fall into the proper place. It was lucky he hadn’t been attacked, already, but there wasn’t much he could do but stay as alert as possible.

Not for the first time that day, Anduin’s stomach growled. It was accompanied by a sharp ache, that time, which spurred Anduin to move on. He needed to find _food_ ; he hadn’t eaten since he was on the boat - before they ran aground - and he didn’t exactly have anything he was used to hunting with.

He had a knife. That was it. Idly, he slipped his hand into his satchel and brought the knife out, turned it over in his hands. It had been given to him by one of the Draenei, back in the Exodar. Anduin had been feeling homesick, and he’d confided in a friend he’d made - a Paladin named Pramod, who had taken it upon himself to arrange one of Anduin’s favorite meals from home and gifted him with a hunting knife, imported from Stormwind. Anduin had nearly cried with gratitude.

He had no idea it would come into so much use. As it was, aside from the Light, the knife was Anduin’s only defense. Not only that, but if he could _catch_ some food, it would be important in preparing it. Unfortunately, while edible wildlife didn’t seem entirely sparse, Anduin lacked a good method of hunting it down.

There were giant fire flies, but Anduin wasn’t sure if they were edible or not, and he didn’t want to take the chance. He’d seen, in the distance, some crocolisks, but – even with the Holy Light itself on his side – he doubted he could take them. Even then, the risk wasn’t worth the amount of food he would be able to keep.

He didn’t have much in the way of cooking skills, which seemed ridiculous. He’d been trained for some survival situations, but those mostly revolved around finding edible fruits in the area. Such skills weren’t doing him much good, at the time, as he was unfamiliar with the local flora.

Anduin sighed, tried to ignore the wet squish of the mud beneath his shoes and the acrid scent of the bog. He tried to focus, instead, on the future, on how best to locate a town, on getting _home_. Unfortunately, the growing pain in his stomach ensured he only thought about one thing.

Anduin stopped in his tracks. He’d heard a noise, a slow, dragging sound, like something shifting lazily against the ground. He strained his ears, trying to catch it again through the cacophonous backdrop of screeching wildlife. He feared a crocolisk attack, and when he couldn’t find the noise again, he turned around slowly, scanning his surroundings for anything that looked even _remotely_ like one of the giant beasts. Upon seeing nothing, Anduin turned around, to resume walking, and found his face mere inches away from a giant, unblinking blue eye.

Before Anduin could react, something slammed hard into his side, catching his arm against himself and sending him flying off of his feet, landing with a wet _squish_ in some slimy mud a few yards from the creature. As soon as he landed, Anduin whirled around, rolling onto his back. He grabbed for his knife, adrenaline dampening the pain in his arm and his side, the muffled, wet _thud_ of the monster’s footsteps, and the stench of the surrounding bog.

The thing - whatever it was - was long and gangly, with arms and legs like tree branches coated in clusters of thick, clumpy moss connected by thin, stringy plant life. Each hand had three fingers, long, twig-like tendrils that extended forth, idly curling and twisting in the air, as if testing its surroundings for prey. They were dotted with blue phosphorescence and capped by long, steely-looking claws. Its body was enshrouded in a noxious orange, cloudy mist. Its face seemed to consist only of a mouth and a single, bright blue eye, which was the only thing that prevented it from blending in perfectly with the scenery.

The creature opened its too-large mouth, and the blood-curdling scream it unleashed cut through Anduin’s adrenaline-fueled deafness like Shalamayne through Stormwind’s enemies. The creature charged Anduin, who scrambled to his feet and held the knife out in front of his body. As quickly as he could - almost instinctively - he threw his free hand into the air, opened his mouth, and _tried_ to form a Power Word, but he had to duck out of the way, spell aborted halfway through, as the beast reached him, swinging its giant arm at the young man, once more.

The idea of the Shield momentarily forgotten, Anduin lunged forward, taking advantage of his position to drive his knife at the beast’s heart - or where he hoped that was.

The mist surrounding the creature billowed outward. Anduin tripped, trying to change momentum mid-lunge, and his knife hit only dead air. That was the last thing on his mind, however, as the gas made it into his mouth, eyes, and nose. It seared through his throat, coiled in his lungs, and burned his eyes. His legs gave beneath him, sent him tumbling into the mud where he knelt, one hand supporting his weight as his body shook with coughs hard enough to send a dull ache through his ribs with each spasm.

He couldn’t _see,_ couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to test the ability. Each time he pried them open, they burned and shut on their own accord. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his eyes watered, desperately trying to rid him of the painful substance. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the coughing that shook him, and in his defenselessness, he was open to attack. Knowing that, he tried to crawl forward, hands slipping through the mud as he tried to find a hold, some traction, _somewhere._

Another of those tree-trunk-like arms collided harshly with him, right into his left side again. He was sent rolling and had no idea how far he went before he slammed into a cluster of trees and fell still. There was silence for a scant moment - not even the surrounding animals were making noise, perhaps having fled from the predator - and Anduin could hear the faint shambling of the creature as it tried to near him.

He had to move. His ribs screamed at him as he rolled onto his hands, supported himself as he remained on all fours and tried to catch his breath. Once again, his chest shook with coughs as his body tried to expel the harsh, toxic mist. Each heave of air burned as if he’d _inhaled fire,_ and saliva dripped from his mouth. He watched as it fell to the ground and mixed with the sludgy water beneath him.

_He could see!_ At some point his eyes had cleared, and although they still burned, the knowledge was enough to motivate him further. He shoved himself up from the ground, caught himself on his feet, and took a deep breath through the dull ache of his ribs.

“ _SHIELD!”_ Anduin felt his sense of protection overwhelm him, a furious need to make it through this trial, on to a village, on to _home_. The sound of his voice cracked across the clearing, its echo nearly deafening in the silence that had fallen. The air around him shook, and the Holy Light - bright and shimmering - coalesced around him, forming a protective barrier and filling Anduin with a sense of sureness, bolstering him with a new sort of power.

The Prince narrowed his eyes, drawing his focus in, onto the monster in front of him. Determination welled up within him, curled in his chest, and Anduin yelled. It wasn’t a perfect means of casting by a long shot, but it did the job. The feeling shifted, shot through his arm and pooled in his palm in the form of Light.

He thrust his arm forward and a streak of Light flashed in front of the monster’s eye, slicing through the air and evidently hitting its target, as the creature stumbled back, bringing its hands up toward its face as it let out an unholy scream, a noise so haunting and inhuman that everywhere around the two, the plant life trembled, animals escaping from the sounds of battle, no doubt.

He was awarded a brief moment of respite, and despite knowing he should have run, he took the moment to hesitate, to catch his breath. Ultimately, he was glad for it, as he realized the plant life around the clearing was… still moving.

Any of the creatures of the bog should have been long gone. With sounds of battle like _that,_ what on _Azeroth_ would have stuck around?

Eyes, bright and piercing, opened wide. The area surrounding the clearing was suddenly peppered with blue spots hovering amidst clumps of wood, vines, and mist. Trunks began to move, roots shifted, rolling lazily over one another as the monsters came into view. _Dozens_ of them, easily, were waking and coming to the aid of their injured companion.

All thoughts of rest leaving him, Anduin turned and _ran_. He wasted no time by figuring out _where_ to go, instead choosing a direction at random and darting off as fast as his tired legs would carry him. Behind him, he heard the shuffling of branches and whipping of vines grow louder. He cursed softly and pushed himself to run faster. His aching ribs protested loudly, but he did his best to ignore them and just _run_.

Anduin moved more quickly than he felt he ever had before, swerving around, dipping under, and leaping over any obstacle that got in his way. Wind whipped by his ears, muffling any sounds of pursuit that might have otherwise reached him. He hoped beyond hope that he was putting distance between himself and the creatures, feeling that he _should_ have, as they hit hard, but made up for it by moving very, very slowly.

He didn’t dare look back to make sure, knowing the second he did, he would find himself face-down in the mud, a sitting target for hungry or vengeful creatures.

He had no idea how long he’d been running by the time he couldn’t run any longer. He slowed to a stop, panting hard, one hand pressed firmly to his side. The adrenaline finally waned, and Anduin’s body was _screaming,_ his side, arm, and shoulder all throbbed furiously. Naturally, all of the injuries had to be on _one side,_ his left. Of course.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they were spread out on either side of his body, perhaps not. All he knew was that he couldn’t hear any monsters behind him, either due to him being faster than he’d thought, or the creatures being slower. Either way, he seemed to have succeeded.

It took him several minutes of calming down before he realized two things: One, he was _somehow_ still holding his hunting knife. Two, he was standing on solid rock. Smooth solid rock. He looked down, and sure enough, his feet were planted firmly on a _stone path_. He lifted his head and looked around, spotting, first, a lantern, and then, _just_ through the mists - stairs! A wall with an archway through it! Perhaps it was a town!

Without thinking of the risks, and with a renewed vigor, Anduin sprinted down the path and took the stairs two at a time, before coming to a stop under the archway. His heart sank. He wasn’t in a town. He’d found civilization of _some_ kind, that much was certain, but…

“H- hello?” Anduin called, his voice ragged from the mist creature’s noxious fog. The words burned him, but they were necessary. He chased the pain from his mind. “Is anyone-… Is anyone here?”

In front of him there was only one tiny house with a small well next to it. Behind the house, Anduin could see the ocean. If he looked to either side, it seemed there were tables set up, things scattered around. Anduin couldn’t tell if he’d found a well-lived-in home or more abandoned architecture.

He stepped further inside the area, before coming to a stop in the middle of the courtyard.

“Hello?” he tried again, feeling his heart sink. No one was there. Anduin’s stomach let out another low, angry growl, and he cringed, moving his hand from his side to his abdomen.

Then, he felt something very large, yet oddly gentle nudge his back. He startled and whirled, swinging his knife through empty air in front of his face. Thankfully, he had missed what had tried to get his attention, as Anduin found himself face-to-face with yet another predator.

A very, very large tiger stood between Anduin and the archway. For whatever reason, it was standing still, staring forward intensely, as if boring holes through Anduin with its gaze. The young Prince stood still, too hungry and too terrified to move. He did, however, have the presence of mind to lower his knife, hoping that appearing nonthreatening would lessen the chance of attack, rather than make him look even more edible.

Much to Anduin’s surprise, the tiger blinked slowly, and then leaned forward to sniff at his chest. The tiger’s head was bigger than Anduin’s torso, but it moved gently, not even knocking him back a single step when it pressed its nose to his body. After a few long moments, it blinked again and turned around, making its lazy way over to a lush patch of grass by the archway. It circled a few times, pawed at the ground, and then settled down to nap.

Very slowly, still watching the tiger, Anduin fished his hunting knife’s sheath from his satchel and stowed the weapon away.

He glanced around the area again, and suddenly, out from behind a few of the trees in the area, birds began to emerge. They were small, with lanky legs and beautiful - and slightly frightening - long beaks that curved and tapered to a very sharp point. Anduin made a mental note to steer clear of them. Although, if the tiger was any indication, perhaps they weren’t interested in any confrontation at all.

The animals must have been someone’s pets, if they were so docile. Anduin took that as a blessing. That meant someone was around, surely… But it only took a quick search about the area to determine that there was no one. Aside from the animals. Anduin heaved a heavy sigh and dragged his way over to a stool.

Whatever lived there, it wasn’t small. The stool could easily seat two or three Stormwind Princes, and Anduin was too hungry to be afraid of those implications. The house was a peaceful little place with a nice view, and it afforded Anduin with the ability to tell that the sun was dipping lower and lower in the horizon, night threatening to fall.

And he had nowhere to stay. He wasn’t about to sleep in a stranger’s bed, especially when the first strangers he’d seen in the area were looting a wrecked ship, hauling off body parts. Anduin closed his eyes and shuddered, trying desperately not to remember the way he saw one _chewing on a human arm_.

A wave of nausea hit, and Anduin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands.

Something bumped against his leg, and he didn’t need to look up to be able to tell that it was the tiger again. He dropped his arms and watched the creature as it sat down next to him, watching him expectantly, as if he was going to do something.

“I don’t have any food,” he murmured softly. The tiger didn’t react, just watched him patiently. He sighed. “I can’t share food with you that I don’t have.” Anduin didn’t let any of the frustration he was feeling creep into his voice. Instead, he was calm, speaking affectionately to the creature, partly out of self-preservation, but mostly because he had no reason to be angry at it. After all, it was letting him into its home without getting angry, so if anything, he was grateful.

The tiger continued to regard him in silence before rising to its feet and padding quietly away. Idly, Anduin watched it, then glanced around again, wondering if he should stay and wait for the place’s owner or not. Finally, he decided that moving on would be good, or at the very least going _hunting_ for something, so he wouldn’t take a stranger’s food.

Next to his chair, he spied a very large, unlit brazier. He wouldn’t take a stranger’s food, but perhaps he could use a stranger’s fire…

—-

It was no surprise to Varian that he couldn’t sleep that night. Honestly, he hadn’t even really tried. Just to humor his servants, he donned his nightclothes and laid down. He remained in bed for a half hour, even dozed slightly, but the first time he awoke from visions of Anduin’s lifeless body brought back on SI:7’s airship, he gave up on sleeping.

He sat up in bed and glanced to the bed-side table. Upon it rested the bottle he’d taken from the kitchen. Without thinking, his hand moved to grasp it, but it fell just short. He couldn’t even bring himself to _drink_. Not then. As much as he wanted to use alcohol to wipe the dreams clean from his mind, he knew that Anduin was right. It almost never worked. Even if they were gone for a night, they would come back, and he _couldn’t_ let himself grow dependent.

With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bed and took to roaming the halls. Normally, he would pull on a robe or even change clothing completely, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. What did it matter if a servant who’d worked in the castle their entire life saw the King without a shirt on? Further, why would Varian care. If Anduin was gone…

Anduin.

Varian tried not to think about him, but of course, the young man was where the King’s thoughts drifted. Was he well? Was he eating? Had he been captured by the Horde? Was he being tortured? How badly had they broken his body, by that point, and would they move on to his mind, next?

Varian shook his head to clear the thoughts. He _couldn’t_ think about it like that. He couldn’t. He had to try and remain optimistic, just like Anduin had tried to teach him.

Damn it.

Varian heaved a heavy sigh as he stopped at a familiar door. He hesitated, hand on the doorknob, before simply letting himself in. It wasn’t as if Anduin was there, anyway. It was hard to sneak up on someone who was on a different continent.

He cast his gaze over the sparse room, and found himself regretting the fact that Anduin had to deal with so little. Such a cramped, tiny room, not befitting the young man’s growing size, and Anduin was stuck there. Varian wanted to talk to him before moving him to a different bedroom. After all, Anduin deserved to make his own decisions.

Anduin’s small writing desk was neatly organized, papers stacked and quills lined up just the way he liked - just the way he’d left them, only moved occasionally for dusting. The brazier was unlit, and the bed was made, Anduin’s fancy, royal comforter and sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Upon Anduin’s bed rested the normal four pillows, with cases matching his sheets. However, there was something extra there.

Varian approached Anduin’s bed and ran his hand over the quiver resting there. He sat heavily, ignoring the creak of the mattress as he lifted the bow - brand new - to look it over. He’d had it specially made for Anduin, a very good quality, light bow with intricate gold carvings swirling and cutting through the smooth blue of the handle. They were meant to represent the Holy Light, although Varian wasn’t quite sure how.

It was tailor-made for Anduin, and was to be a gift for when he returned. It was also supposed to be a symbol of their steadily mending relationship, of Varian’s acceptance of Anduin’s chosen path in life.

Was that to be taken from him, like so much else? Was Anduin to die just as Varian started to see hope that they might be as close as they once were? Was Anduin to go just as Llane, as Tiffin, as Arthas had? Was Varian cursed to constantly lose that which was most important in his life?

Varian would move mountains to save his son, and yet he was trapped, maneuvering politically around a war, fighting his enemies in ways he couldn’t stand. He turned Anduin’s bow over in his hands, wondering if the situation was reversed for his son. Was Anduin stuck on the battlefield even as Varian yearned for it? Was Anduin sitting by a campfire, longing for his own bed, just as Varian sat on a bed, missing the days of hunting and campfires?

Whatever the case… Varian hoped - wherever he was - that Anduin didn’t need the bow.

—-

Anduin really wished he’d had his bow. Hunting would have gone much more smoothly, but he’d worked well with what he was given. With a bit of patience and a few failed attempts, Anduin finally managed to catch a couple of snakes, which he thankfully knew how to prepare. At least, he knew how to make them edible.

It was uncomfortable to sift through a stranger’s belongings, especially with a tiger constantly watching him, growling if he got too close to certain things. Evidently, there were a few things he wasn’t allowed near, and, quite honestly, Anduin was fine with that. He hated having to go through the stuff in the first place. The tiger offered him an excuse not to have to go through every little thing.

For the most part, though, the tiger remained in its napping spot, only growling from a distance. Once, it had taken to following him around, but it didn’t seem angry. Only curious.

The snakes were simple to prepare, although the task was a _bit_ clumsy. His knife was a bit too big for the task _,_ but he worked with what he was given without complaining. Food was food, and he would wait as long as he needed to, knowing a meal was only a matter of time.

He used the flint he’d found on _The Vanguard_ to light the fire, and proceeded to cook the first snake with items he’d found around the cottage. As he cooked the first snake, he prepared the second and cut it into a few small pieces.

He made sure his dinner wasn’t going to burn before he left it alone and approached the tiger. It was dozing lightly, its ear twitching as if it was having a dream. He set the chunks of the second snake down on the grass, knowing it to be a pitiful amount to such a large creature, but wanting to express his gratitude all the same.

For the birds, he found a bag of seed sitting open for them, but he had noticed they preferred to pick at the ground. Hoping he wasn’t overstepping his bounds, Anduin crouched next to the bag, took a handful of the birds’ food, and scattered it out on the ground in front of him, trying to cast it in a wide arc, so they didn’t have to get too close if they didn’t want to.

Much to his surprise - and elation - the birds were happy to venture as close to Anduin as they needed, in order to get some food. It was odd. They were so comfortable around him. Perhaps that wasn’t too strange in itself, but he was a stranger in their home, a stranger to the lands, themselves. It was hard to believe they would be so comfortable with an outsider.

He’d have thought the place to be owned by a human if it weren’t for the size of the furniture.

And the place was so open… a predator could waltz right in and attack. They hadn’t run from _Anduin_. Would they run from a hungry, bird-eating beast? Then again… Anduin cast his gaze over to the tiger, chuckled quietly, and moved back over to the fire.

Anduin had pulled the large stool over to sit next to the fire, so he could work and cook in relative comfort. As he sat, his stomach growled loudly, and he cringed and wrapped his arms around himself. Light, he had never _been_ so hungry, and the smell of the cooking snake was only making it worse. It was only a matter of time, however. Just a matter of time.

He dozed; He counted stars; He watched the birds peck at their food; and soon enough, Anduin was able to take the snake from the fire, and… wait for it to cool. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.

Off to his side, the tiger flicked its ear irritably, as if growing frustrated with his impatience. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he spoke to the tiger, as if it could respond. He’d taken to doing so, because going so long without hearing someone’s voice was… unsettling. “I can’t be impatient. It serves no one.” Anduin pulled his cloak closer to his body and crossed his legs. One thing about the stool being _huge_ was the fact that he could sit cross-legged on it without there being a problem.

He knew the best cure for impatience, hunger, anger, sadness, anything. He rested his hands on his knees and glanced over to the tiger.

“You’ll make sure nothing comes to get me, won’t you?” The tiger didn’t react, but Anduin _did_ feel safe with it around. Safe enough to tilt his head back and close his eyes, to allow himself something he didn’t think he would get the chance to do so soon - not safely.

With the Holy Light came calm, comfort. It chased away his hunger and soothed the ache in his body. The burn in his throat and nose subsided, and the persistent, throbbing ache in his left side diminished. There, basking in the warm glow of the Light, Anduin felt some semblance of _home_. It was a great comfort - a truly wonderful feeling - to know that he could always access something so comforting, no matter where he was.

Anduin took the opportunity to think over his path, to ask for guidance in his journey. He prayed for protection, but most of all, he prayed for his father. Anduin should have arrived at home, by then, and there was no doubting the fact that the King would be very upset. Perhaps he’d already sent out a search party for him.

A feeling of assurance washed over him, certainty, safety. He knew, no matter what, that he was going to be all right. He basked in the feeling for some time, calming himself as he expressed gratitude for what he was given.

Perhaps it was too long, because Anduin felt a nudge at his right side. He grunted softly and opened his eyes, expecting to find the owner of the house standing above him and glaring down, wondering what Anduin was doing with his _things,_ but, instead, he saw the tiger, who was staring at him patiently, but expectantly.

“Was I taking too long?” Anduin laughed, his voice much smoother from the meditation. He would have to heal himself properly, once he got some food and rest. Speaking of the food, he reached down to check its temperature, and found it perfectly edible. “Well, thank you!” He reached up to the tiger, without thinking, and ran his hands through the thick fur of its shoulder. The tiger barely reacted to the touch, before laying down next to Anduin’s feet.

Anduin shook his head. The food had cooled down to a wonderful temperature, and while there was no way the tiger had timing so good, Anduin was glad it apparently knew Anduin was taking a bit too long meditating and had woken him up so he could eat.

And, oh, did he _eat_. The snake was actually quite big - big enough for one satisfying meal, at least. Anduin had filled one of his waterskins from the small well next to the cottage, and so he had food _and_ water - two things he hadn’t had in at least a day. It was one of the most refreshing things he could have hoped for, and something about having a tiger curled up at his feet just made the evening feel that much more comfortable.

As he ate, he found his mind wandering. It had been doing that a lot, the past day, which made sense, quite frankly. When one didn’t have anyone to talk to, one’s mind tended to drift.

One of the things he was very grateful for was the fact that the sun had been down for about an hour, yet the weather was still warm and comfortable. It reminded him of Stormwind, and that served to keep him from getting _too_ homesick. At the very least, it served to stave off the full brunt of the feeling.

Unfortunately, it made the homesickness worse, in some ways. Physically, he felt at home, but he knew he wasn’t there. He was sitting in the middle of a stranger’s home, in an unknown forest-slash-jungle, with a strange tiger laying at his feet. Admittedly, he’d found safety and food, and he _was_ grateful, but it wasn’t exactly the same.

Honestly, though, the trip was turning out to be everything but what he’d expected.

Anduin finished eating and gathered the supplies he’d used, wanting to clean up after himself. He stood and halted suddenly, staring at the animals surrounding him. It seemed not only had the tiger settled down next to him to sleep, as he’d observed, but several of the birds had settled down, heads tucked back under a wing, sleeping somewhat nearby. They weren’t huddled close, but they were certainly all on his side of the courtyard, though some were still picking at seeds in the distance. Just how many of the birds _were_ there?

Anduin smiled warmly, glad he’d apparently been welcomed there, and set about cleaning up, trying to disturb as few of the animals as he possibly could. The tiger took to watching him again, although it didn’t growl any more. He’d learned what he was and wasn’t to go near, and he didn’t dare risk approaching the cottage itself, or any of what seemed to be alchemical supplies scattered around.

Once he’d cleaned up, Anduin glanced around the small courtyard, biting his lip in thought. Where to sleep? The whole place seemed well-guarded, but he didn’t want to take any extra risks. Finally, he settled on a patch of grass, somewhat near the tiger’s napping spot, but far enough away he wasn’t disturbing it. He kept his distance from the birds, as well, and they didn’t move from where they’d fallen asleep by the brazier. Perhaps they were attracted to its heat, and that’s why they settled near him.

He doused the fire and set about making sure everything was left the way he found it, before he moved to the little space he’d picked out for himself. There, he gathered his cloak and sat on the ground, making sure he was properly covered by the thick, surprisingly high-quality cloak, before he rested his head back against a soft clump of grass and closed his eyes.

Sleep met him almost instantly.

—-

One very clear and immediate benefit to not drinking oneself to sleep was not waking up with a headache the following morning. However, one benefit of drinking oneself to sleep was… sleeping, and to be honest, one rather needed to accomplish the latter before being able to experience the former.

Despite all that, the longer the sun was up, the more Varian felt like he could actually make it through the day. He’d gone without sleep, before, and he felt like the effects of sleeplessness were generally better than the effects of a hangover.

He’d managed to make it through a good deal of the clerical work - reviewing cost reports, negotiating scheduling issues, fighting off the nobles’ continuing requests for frivolous royal galas - without a hitch. In fact, he was in surprisingly high spirits by mid-day.

Perhaps there was something to the whole “not drinking” thing.

Varian had managed to immerse himself completely in his work _and_ remain in a good mood, when a repetitive noise made it to his ears. A footstep, alternating with an authoritative “click.” He lifted his head in time to see his head Counselor - one Kelleigh Acker - standing in the doorway to his study.

She was a tall woman - nearly Varian’s height - and broadly built. She could have easily been a warrior, although she’d taken to being a Royal Counselor better than any expected. Despite this, she chose to wear somewhat ornate leather armor, focused on function rather than form, partly because they were _at war_ and partly to separate herself from the woman - dragon - whose position she had taken over.

She had dark brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, dusky skin, split by a lighter, pinkish scar running down the right side of her neck. Her hazel eyes were currently reflecting a grave sort of seriousness. Her mouth formed a hard line, and her jaw was set. Varian noticed Wyll hovering behind her - he hadn’t much idea what to do with himself, with Anduin gone.

“Counselor Acker?” Varian asked, a brow quirked suspiciously. Despite having grown up in Duskwood and evidently having encountered her fair share of hardship, Counselor Acker was usually a very upbeat, positive woman.

“Your Majesty.” Acker stood up straight, leaning some weight onto her one good foot. Varian wasn’t quite certain how she’d lost the other, or why she’d replaced it with a peg that had _gears_ on it, but it was functional, and that was all he cared about. “There’s something you need to see.”

Not five minutes later, and Varian was standing on one of the Keeps’ many balconies, overlooking the courtyard in front of the castle. What was normally a somewhat pleasant view of stairs, an admittedly embarrassing statue, and the fountain had become entirely different with one simple change.

“Why,” Varian began, speaking slowly and enunciating his words very carefully. “Is half of _Stormwind_. Crowded around _the Keep?_ ”

Counselor Acker was standing next to him, and Wyll had taken to hovering in the room behind the balcony. Acker, herself, didn’t seem too bothered by Varian’s anger, so much as everything that was about to happen.

“It seems they want to know where your son is,” she offered softly, as if speaking with an angry wild animal.

“Do they, now?” Varian lifted a hand to rub at one of his temples, closing his eyes as he tried to shut out the quiet din of the people below. Luckily, they were at such an angle that the people hadn’t seen them yet.

“They seem to think you have answers, and they want to know what those are.” She folded her arms behind her back and gazed down at the people with concern. She was truly worried about them, just as much as she was worried about the King and his son. She cared deeply for her kingdom.

“They want my answers…” Varian snorted. “Have they started calling for my head, yet?” He brought his hand away from his temple, but moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should have known the good day wouldn’t last long.

“Just the answers.” Counselor Acker spared a dry laugh. “No one’s said anything about your head, yet.”

“I suppose that’s good,” Varian bit out through grit teeth. “And what answers am I to give them?”

“The best we can come up with is to tell them the truth.” Acker sighed and shook her head. “Lying won’t get us anywhere. Tell them the truth and express confidence in the Prince’s swift return.”

Pain spiked behind Varian’s eyes, and grunted, dropped his hand to his side. It was still so strange to hear his Counselors suggest telling the truth, especially when it was a good idea to. Honestly, when Lady Prestor had finally been killed, it took Varian a long time to trust the Counselors that rose to take her place. Even when he found them to be trustworthy people who actually had the best for the Kingdom in mind.

Lady Prestor would have had him spin a web of lies that eventually ended with the people rioting. It wasn’t unheard of.

With a heavy sigh, Varian brought both hands back up to his face and cradled his head, which was starting to throb dully. So much for waking up without a headache.

“I will speak with them as soon as possible.”

—-

No matter how little Varian liked some aspects of being the King, he took to some quite well. He was a brilliant public speaker - he’d been raised that way, of course - and the citizens of Stormwind actually seem placated by his telling of the truth. Of course, he assured all of them that they would stop at nothing to get their Prince back, and he would be home, safe and sound, as soon as humanly possible.

Not ten minutes after the speech, he was striding swiftly through the halls, snapping questions at those that trailed behind him: Counselor Acker, whose height helped her keep pace with Varian effortlessly, her next-in-command; Counselor Andrew Lancaster, who was having a bit of difficulty, as he had to hold the hem of his robes a bit off of the ground in order to keep pace; and Wyll, whose long legs carried him along quietly and swiftly, despite his age.

“How did the people find _out_ about this?” Varian growled as he moved through the halls.

Telling the truth had _never_ been the original plan. When Anduin’s ship hadn’t come in, Varian and his Counselors scrambled to put together a reason. A delay. They needed to buy themselves time. Eventually, they’d settled on pretending a message had come in, Anduin apologizing and saying he needed to stay in The Exodar longer, that Velen wanted him to take on further training before he was ready to go back.

It had required some cooperation, but once Velen learned of Anduin’s disappearance, he readily agreed to keep up the illusion and turned to the Light, hoping to aid in the search.

“We don’t know, your Majesty,” Lancaster spoke up, a bit of a waver in his voice due to how he had to jog to keep up with Varian. He was a short man, and not exactly in peak physical condition. As a middle-aged civilian serving as a Counselor, he wasn’t used to running. “We followed the procedures-”

“Someone _broke_ the procedures,” he snapped, his voice raising in volume just slightly. “ _Who_?”

“We’ve already sent members of SI:7 to comb through the Keep and find out,” Acker reassured him. “We-”

“They could be _long gone,_ by now!” Varian snarled. “This _traitor_ had better be found _as soon as possible!_ ”

“We’ve kept anyone from leaving the keep ever since the crowd gathered, sir!” It was Lancaster speaking that time, and Varian couldn’t help but feel some manner of irritation that they were apparently _taking turns_.

“Not _soon enough!_ ” Varian snarled. “If the traitor let the information out last _night,_ they’d have left, by now!” His headache was rising in spikes, harsh throbs that radiated out through his head, burning behind his eyes. Ever since giving the damned _statement,_ his headache had worsened quickly.

“It’s possible it was an accident, your Majesty!” Lancaster continued that time, and it didn’t help that he’d broken the pattern. Varian clenched his fists, finding his temper coming to a harsh boil faster than it had in a long time. The lack of sleep probably hadn’t helped.

“That changes _nothing!_ ”

“My Ki-”

“A mistake or no, it could have dealt a harsh blow to Stormwind’s morale, and _that_ is the _last thing_ we _need!_ ” Varian’s voice was rising, he was practically yelling, and up ahead, Acker and Lancaster could make out servants scurrying from the hallway before they could get too close. “Such an act - _accidental or not_ \- will not go unpunished! We are at _war!_ If security is to be maintained, people will have to know the consequences!”

“Your Majesty!” Counselor Acker gasped. “You can’t be suggesting-”

“ _Treason!_ ” Varian rounded a corner, his warpath taking him directly toward the map room. Doors that normally took a servant each thundered open as Varian jerked them back. Hinges shrieked in protest from moving so quickly, and the doors slammed into the stone wall of the castle hallway with a resounding _boom_. “Treason is punishable by _death_!”

“In technicality!” came Counselor Lancaster’s assertion as he skirted around the doors which were still vibrating from the impact. Locks of graying, dirty-blond hair were escaping from the ponytail in which they were usually kept. “But we can’t punish an _accident_ with _death_! You-”

“ _WE CANNOT BE SOFT!_ ” Varian whirled, cape flinging out behind him as he snarled at the two of his counselors. Lancaster flinched back, but Wyll and Acker held their ground, watching with a mix of fear and concern. “If we simply _allow this to happen_ , it will _happen again!_ ”

“We cannot _rush_ to a _judgment!_ ” Just as the words left her mouth, Acker regretted them. Yelling back _never_ helped. “ _We-_ ” She cleared her throat, trying to calm. “We don’t even know who let the information leak, your Majesty.”

Varian glared at the group of three for a long moment, then snarled and whirled around, swatting an empty bottle off of the table to send it shattering against the far wall. He clenched a fist, and then a chair followed the bottle. The Counselors flinched back, and Wyll fretted, wringing his hands.

“Someone will _PAY FOR THIS!_ ” Varian screamed, grabbing another bottle and flinging it, although the smash of glass against the stone wall wasn’t satisfying. It wasn’t _enough_. “I will have my son _BACK!_ ”

“We need to wait, your Majesty!” Lancaster stepped forward, lifting a hand as if to console the man. “We must simply _wait_!”

Varian paused, hand lifted to grab another bottle. His face fell, contorted into a mix of sorrow and regret before snapping right back to raw fury. He whirled toward the map table and crouched, grabbing it from below. Wyll and the two Counselors recoiled as a feral scream was torn from deep within Varian’s chest.

He rose, lifting the side of the table with him, and once he’d reached a certain point, he’d gained the leverage to flip the gargantuan table over, sending it to roll with a series of deafening slams before it came to a hard stop, upside-down.

Tiny red and blue markers were scattered across the floor, some broken, most crushed beneath the weight of the table. Silence settled, heavy like dust, as Varian stood in the center of the room, breathing hard and slowly regaining his composure. Steadily, his shoulders drooped, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, ragged from the screaming.

“When the traitor is found,” he growled. “I want the report. But _do not_ let me see them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcoholism, blood, violence, dead animal


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian descends further into the depression caused by Anduin’s disappearance, and Anduin struggles to survive in this strange new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings in the notes at the end of the chapter.

The morning, rather unlike the night before, was calm. The entire forest was enshrouded in a light mist that seemed to muffle all sounds just as it amplified the damp, verdant scent that clung to the area. Even the acrid smell of the nearby bog couldn’t cut through the peace that had settled upon the place.

The cozy, comforting atmosphere was probably why Anduin didn’t wake until it was shattered. Thunder, sudden and loud, cracked through the clearing, sending the birds in the courtyard to startle awake and flutter around in a panic, bumping into one another and cawing in terror for a few moments before they finally settled.

Anduin, himself, shot upright, knocking the cloak from his body as he glanced around, his eyes wide. He’d been awoken by cannon fire, before, and he thought he’d experienced it, again, until the rain started to fall. Despite the volume of the thunder and clear proximity of the storm, the rain was light, barely a sprinkle. Most of it was blocked out by the trees, creating a new sort of relaxing backdrop of sound.

For a few moments, the young prince stayed still, pulling the cloak over his arms as he watched the canopy above him, marveling at the soft sounds of rain and the clouds swirling overhead. Despite all that had happened, he felt so calm, so peaceful. He felt so safe in the courtyard. It was going to be a shame to leave it.

He’d decided that he wasn’t going to stick around to wait for someone to show up. Surely, there would be a village nearby, and he’d like to find civilization and a way back home as quickly as possible. There was no telling how long he would have to wait for the house’s owner to return. Of course, there was no telling how long he would be walking, either, but at least he would be doing _that_ of his own power, rather than sitting around and using someone else’s things.

He hunted down some breakfast for himself, again, and prepared and ate it as swiftly as possible. He made a mental note to, if at all possible, create a makeshift fishing pole at some point, to try and catch something to eat _that_ way. He was very familiar with the preparation of fish.

After breakfast, Anduin saw to it that he scattered some seeds for the birds. He was _going_ to feed the tiger, as well, but it had wandered off some time while he was eating. He suspected it was going to hunt its own food, which was lucky, as Anduin didn’t think he could take down something big enough to feed the tiger without a bow, and he didn’t think he had the time to catch enough fish.

After seeing to it that the birds were fed, Anduin set about to see if there were any other chores that needed done. It was the least he could do, he supposed. With some disappointment, he realized the only thing in need of tidying was the alchemical equipment, which he didn’t want to touch for fear of accidentally blowing the place up. His knowledge of alchemy was minimal, at best.

After working on the chores, he found his injuries aching again, so he delayed his journey so he could see to them. He didn’t want to waste much energy healing them, but he hadn’t any medicine or potions. It would be best, he ultimately decided, to heal them partially with an easy, simple healing spell that would ease the pain and prevent the deep bruises from getting in his way.

When he’d stripped down to examine his wounds, Anduin found that his shoulder didn’t look particularly bad. Thankfully, it didn’t hurt much, either, so he left it alone. His side and his arm, however, were covered in ugly bruises, deep purple with splotches of green and yellow smeared over his otherwise fair skin. It hurt to move too much, and he spent most of the healing he’d allotted to himself to his side, bringing the nearly-black bruises to a manageable dusting of color along his ribs.

He left his arm, as well, as the bruises were bad, but they didn’t impede his movement.

Around when he’d finished pulling his clothes on, gathering his things, and making sure the snake skins from the previous night were set somewhere that nothing should come along and eat them, the tiger returned, clutching what looked to be a small deer in its jaws.

“Oh, good!” he found himself chirping when the tiger plopped down in its usual spot. “I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.”

He felt somewhat ridiculous, talking to a tiger, but he’d grown to see the creature as something of a friend. At the very least, the creature seemed to have taken up a role as his temporary guardian, and he was very grateful for that. Unfortunately, with the creature eating, he didn’t want to approach too closely.

So he stood in front of the tiger, at a safe distance, and bowed. It seemed the right thing to do.

He straightened up, expecting to turn and leave, but the tiger rose, suddenly, and approached him. He watched on, in mild shock, as the tiger stood in front of him, once again staring intensely at him, as if it knew something he didn’t. This time, however, Anduin wasn’t scared. He waited patiently, to see what the tiger - blood staining its fur - would do.

Time stretched between them. Anduin wasn’t sure how long had passed, with the tiger simply watching as the young Prince stood still, not even fidgeting nervously. His satchel was slung over one shoulder, with his cloak draped over that, clasped in the front and drawn around his body. After a moment, he reached one hand out, to see if the creature was waiting for him to make a move, first.

The tiger then stepped forward, bumping its head against Anduin’s torso. The prince stiffened, startled, but calmed quickly and placed his hand on top of the beast’s massive head. They stood like that for a short moment before the tiger moved away from him, returning to its meal and leaving Anduin to reflect on the bizarre circumstances he’d found himself in.

With one last bow to the tiger - and another to the entire home, itself - Anduin left, starting down the path to what he hoped was a nearby village.

—-

Never before had he hated the rain as much as he did at that moment.

It had started out light and peaceful, a kind backdrop to the quiet of the morning. The gentle patter of rain against the treetops was enough to soothe any of Anduin’s anxieties away. It was unseasonably cold, and it brought the surrounding temperature down, made the walk relaxing, and because it was soft enough that the treetops blocked most of it, he barely had to worry about keeping dry.

And then the rain, as it had the tendency to do, picked up, and Anduin found himself having gone from a morning of gentle mist and comfortable walks to a day of harsh rain and agonizing treks. His shoulders were soaked in a matter of minutes, and the rest of his cloak was well on its way. It weighed him down and chilled him to the bone.

Worse yet, it _obliterated_ the visibility of the surrounding area. That wasn’t so bad when the path was paved, but somewhere around mid-day, it had dropped off to a muddy depression, carved out as a path only because grass refused to grow where so many had trod. Those two factors combined meant it would be easy to lose the road.

Anduin tried to remain positive, tried to remember that at the end of his path, there was a village. There had to be. He could spot the lanterns along the way. He used them as checkpoints, as markers on his path, and even when they changed from hanging lanterns to glowing orbs resting on the ground, they were helpful. All he had to do was look lower, keep an eye out for a soft blue glow, rather than an acute pinprick of yellow light.

It was harder, but it was possible. Anduin kept his thoughts on that much as he forced himself to keep moving.

He wasn’t sure what he did. He was _sure_ he’d been paying attention, feeling the road out with his feet, moving in as straight of a line as possible to the next glowing blue orb. Perhaps he’d lost focus. Perhaps the road curved suddenly, and he hadn’t been able to see, but one second, his feet were on solid ground, a path _home,_ and the next, the mud slid out from under his foot and he was falling.

The faint blue glow slipped from his vision as his right leg slid out from underneath him. Everything felt as if it was going in slow motion as he cried out, threw his hands out for balance, tried to shift his momentum to fall back onto the path instead of further down, to who-only-knew where.

His foot caught on a rock. For a brief moment, Anduin thought his fall would stop, thought he would be able to make it back to the path, but the momentum he’d already built up carried him, knocked him off of his feet and sent him head-first to tumble down a muddy slope.

His cloak tangled around him as he tried desperately to grab onto _something - anything -_ but to no avail. He caught on rocks, roots, _hard things,_ knocking into them with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. He lost the ability to tell which was was _up_ and which way was _down,_ and all he knew was that he was _falling_ and _spinning_ and if he could just _focus on a spell,_ but there was no _hope_ when every time he opened his mouth it was filled with mud or water or _muddy water,_ and he kept hitting his _head_ and

With a sudden, hard impact, there was nothing.

—-

If he could describe the previous day as a headache, then he would formally dub the next a migraine. Once again, he’d failed to reap the benefits of going to bed sober. Not only that, but – ever since he’d left his quarters that morning – Varian Wrynn felt as though he was being followed.

Perhaps it was an irrational feeling, perhaps it was just residual anxiety manifesting in something Varian could handle better than the vast emptiness of loss, but it was a feeling that had been eating at him for a while. Over breakfast, he couldn’t help but sense someone _hovering._ While receiving morning reports from battlefronts, he felt eyes on the back of his head. Later, as he dealt with the House of Nobles and more mundane issues involved in being the King, he couldn’t help but think someone couldn’t wait to get him alone.

Varian was never one to turn down such a challenge.

As soon as he’d gotten the idea into his head, an itch had begun in Varian’s spine, starting at the back of his neck. He felt antsy, as if he might have a chance for a _proper_ battle, to work out his restlessness the way he really wanted to.

He would be able to fight an _intruder -_ an assassin, rather than a map table and a few chairs. He could do something that actually _felt_ productive, rather than the menial, clerical tasks that felt far less useful than they actually were. He could do something _fun_.

As lunchtime approached, the feeling didn’t die down. Varian had begun to carefully take in his surroundings, searching for what was setting his nerves on end, but he couldn’t seem to figure anything out. Something was certainly off, as Genn seemed on edge, as well, perhaps able to smell something off. But then, why wouldn’t he have sent anyone off to look? Perhaps he fancied that he would take some of the pressure off of Varian by dealing with the problem on his own. Ridiculous.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Varian found himself immersed in thought, weighing his options carefully, considering the best places in which to isolate himself, where his potential attacker would find him. As he tore through his meal, he poured over the strategic advantages to various rooms about the Keep, visualizing each one and weighing the pros and cons to turning it into a battlefield.

His study was far too small for a real fight, and there were too many breakable objects - ones he would actually be sad to lose - inside. His bedroom held the same problem. Any of the hallways were too narrow for Varian’s particular style of fighting, and they increased the chances of bumping into unsuspecting servants, and as much as the King enjoyed a good fight, he didn’t want any bystanders getting hurt.

The ballroom seemed ideal, but servants were regularly in and out of the unused room, keeping it clean so that dust didn’t settle, thus lessening the workload should the House of Nobles ever actually convince Varian that a royal gala was important enough to waste resources on. Not only that, but the rather ornate flooring would be terrible footing, and he would certainly damage it in his heavy plate. No sense in causing unnecessary expense.

Did he have to limit himself to _inside_ the Keep? Years ago, Archbishop Benedictus had proven that the graveyard _seemed_ like a fairly decent ambush location, and Varian and his son had - in turn - proven that they could handle it perfectly well. In fact, they’d proven that one didn’t corner a Wrynn and live to tell the tale. He would also be able to explain away his disappearance as visiting his wife’s grave, in case any nosy servant - or Genn - decided they really wanted to know where he was going. They often got it into their heads that they needed to _supervise_ the King, especially if something was going on that might be upsetting him.

He’d been meaning to visit Tiffin, anyway, ever since Anduin went missing.

That thought sobered him considerably and immediately soured his appetite. He ignored the way the servants watched him as he stopped eating, staring despondently down at his food. In that quiet moment, Varian wondered if he’d been imagining things all along. Perhaps no one wanted to kill him - at least, no one had gotten into the castle to do so. SI:7 and the Castle Guard were probably doing as good of a job as they always did, and _no one_ had infiltrated the Keep. No one would come to him, seeking a fight.

Perhaps, he thought, he could find someone with which to spar. But no. A spar was a mere shadow of what he wanted – what he _needed_. He craved a good fight - a _battle_. He wanted to wade through hordes of his enemies, taking heads off with a swing of his mighty sword. He wanted to feel truly _alive_ as he stared death in the face, to tear into the flesh of his enemies, only able to hear his heartbeat in his ears and his own screams as he met foe after foe, tearing them down until he could find one he could call his equal.

He wanted to see his wife.

And so, he rose from the table and left the small dining room without a word, ignoring the way his heels clicked on the stone floor, echoing across the room that was much colder and much quieter without his son’s presence, just as the world suffered so without Tiffin.

As he walked to Stormwind’s graveyard, one hand resting upon Shalamayne’s hilt, Varian reflected on just how Anduin and Tiffin brightened up any room they entered. They seemed to carry with them a happiness, a supernatural calm that - to that day - made Varian smile when he thought of it. What would it have been like if Tiffin had lived to see Anduin grow. How bright a world would they have lived in with _two_ such beacons shining away, warm hearths in an otherwise cold and chaotic world.

As he slowed to a stop in front of Tiffin’s grave, so, too, did his thoughts. He could only gaze absently, staring at without really reading the inscription. He had long since memorized it, anyway. He reached out, rested his hand on the cold stone that sealed the final resting place of the woman he most loved.

It would have been so much different, if she had never died. There were the obvious, big things; Tiffin never liked Katrana, and it’s likely that the dragon wouldn’t have gained such a strong foothold in the House of Nobles with Tiffin around. It was debatable whether or not Varian would have ended up kidnapped, split in two and poorly recombined.

Mostly, Varian mourned the little things. Even just the idea that he could have been able to walk into the dining room to find Tiffin and Anduin, both early risers, already having started breakfast. They could have smiled the same smile, warm and comforting, and beckoned Varian over. They could have filled him in on the conversation they would have been having and readily invited him to offer his opinion.

Varian still would have maneuvered clumsily with Anduin’s emotions, lacking the confidence to really help, but he would have had Tiffin to fall back on. He would have been able to watch from the doorway as his wife comforted their son, spoke in hushed tones in the way it seemed only a mother could. Perhaps it was just Tiffin. She always seemed to know what to say when Varian was upset. Then again, so did Anduin.

Both of them were so in tune with the feelings of others. Varian wasn’t _completely_ clueless, but he never knew what to do when someone was upset. Sure, once or twice he’d managed to banish Anduin’s fears and insecurities, but usually only because Varian had been through the exact same thing, and he was able to tell Anduin what he had wanted to hear when he was going through it. Perhaps what was all there was to comforting people, he wasn’t sure.

All he knew what that he really could have used one of them there, to rest a hand on his shoulder and tell him everything he needed to know.

A rustle behind him broke Varian from his train of thought, and a thrill shot through his body. Someone was out for him, after all! Within seconds, he grabbed Shalamayne and whirled, holding the sword out, blade pointed directly at-

Genn Greymane.

The Worgen King was holding his hands up in a gesture of nonviolence. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn’t expected Varian to move with such swift ferocity, or as if he hadn’t expected the man to draw a _sword_. Varian scoffed and lowered the blade.

“What do you want, Genn?” he growled as he half-turned away, wanting to look back toward his wife’s grave, but not entirely convinced that the other King was trustworthy. In a world with illusion magic, it never hurt to be too careful.

“I wanted to speak with you.” The Gilnean King frowned and lowered his hands, making to straighten his jacket, even though it was already rather impeccably placed. Varian wrinkled his nose and looked away, snorting lowly. Genn’s frown didn’t budge.

“I don’t wish to speak with anyone, right now, Genn.” Varian squared his shoulders as he spoke, and though Genn _wanted_ to mirror the posture, he did his best not to, preferring, instead, to keep his posture as casual as possible. A silence settled between the two, and - not for the first time that day - Genn had second thoughts about speaking with Varian.

It was his idea, originally, to speak to Varian, but if it weren’t for Mia, Genn would have abandoned the notion. It wasn’t that he didn’t care: quite the contrary. Varian had become a good friend to Genn, and over the years that the Greymane family spent in Stormwind’s Keep, the two Kings found good conversation in one another. Genn would even go as far as to call Varian his friend. However, that was exactly what had prevented him from wanting to talk.

Varian was a stubborn man, especially when it came to anything relating to his own weakness. Genn knew that coming to help Varian with a problem - especially one so dire - was like trying to pull a thorn from an angry lion’s paw: dangerous and risking a mauling. Still, Mia had insisted, said that Varian needed help _then_ , perhaps more than he had ever needed it, before, and Genn was the best person for the job.

They both knew that Anduin would have been the best choice, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“I want to help you, Varian,” the Gilnean King began again. He ignored the way Varian’s shoulders stiffened further, the way he turned even more toward Tiffin’s grave. The Human King remained silent, so the Worgen King pressed on. “I only want you to know that you can speak with me, if you need.”

Varian shot him a venomous glare, and Genn suddenly felt ridiculous. He knew that he was saying the right thing, (he wasn’t as clumsy with peoples’ emotions as Varian was) but something about it didn’t quite feel right. Perhaps he should have just hauled off and punched Varian in the back of the head.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Genn,” Varian’s voice was a low rumble, an intimidating growl that bubbled up from deep within his chest. Anyone else would have stopped right then and given Varian his space. However, Genn knew Varian well enough to know just when to press on. Even with Lo’Gosh more or less reintegrated into Varian’s personality, he occasionally needed confronted head-on, fought with, rather than politely debated.

“Varian…” Genn sighed. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about this now, but in the future… Hell, even if you change your mind in _ten minutes,_ I-”

“I am _not_ going to _change my mind,_ Genn.” Varian remained still, his arms crossed over his chest. Genn couldn’t tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Varian was glaring fiercely enough at Tiffin’s tomb that - were it not made of stone - he might have set it on fire. Genn grit his teeth, feeling his temper rise in a way that he hadn’t expected.

“At least consider what I’m saying, Varian!” Genn plead, clenching his fists in frustration. “I’ve been through this! I know exactly what you’re going through! You-”

“ _My_ son isn’t _dead,_ Greymane!” Varian whirled again, his cape fanning out behind him. This time, Genn noticed with some relief, Varian hadn’t drawn his sword.

The Worgen’s face darkened to a glare.

“If that’s the way you want it, Varian, so be it,” he bit out through grit teeth. “If you’re going to be a petulant little child about it, I’ll let you have your pity party in the graveyard. But know that my offer still stands.” With that, Genn turned on his heel and strode from the graveyard, needing to let off some steam of his own, after that.

—-

He was cold; his head hurt; his body ached; and he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there.

He was laying on his back; his arms were spread out to his sides; and his legs were elevated, propped up on… something. It was hard to breathe.

He was cold because rain was falling, hitting him in fat droplets and soaking through his clothing. His body ached, he assumed, because he’d fallen there. That was also, naturally, how he ended up sprawled out haphazardly in the middle of a rainstorm. It was hard to breathe because something was exerting pressure on his throat.

He tried to open his eyes, but found that the rain was preventing that. Water kept hitting his face, and he wasn’t quite conscious enough to force his body to do what he wanted. Before he could think of what to do next, he tried to lift himself from the ground. Unfortunately, his body wouldn’t obey. For whatever reason, he tried to lift himself, but he was stuck.

Stuck.

He remembered, suddenly, tumbling down a hill, sliding in the mud and rolling, rolling… hitting the ground. Hitting the ground hard enough that he couldn’t really move. Once he could focus on that, he was able to realize that he’d formed a depression in the mud, getting himself half-stuck from the force with which he’d struck the ground.

He was very lucky - and very grateful - for the rain. Even if it had caused the problem in the first place, if he’d fallen like that without _mud_ to catch him… He shuddered to think of the consequences.

Finally conscious of what, exactly, had happened, Anduin was able to wriggle himself from the mud, shifting and pulling at his own body in a way that allowed him to sit up. Or try to. When he pulled his upper body forward, the pressure on his throat increased and he choked, fell back. It was then that he realized his _cloak_ had gotten stuck, as well, and was pulling on his neck.

  
Fantastic.

That, at least, was relatively easy to fix. Anduin reached up, brought gloved and half-numb fingers up to feel at the part of his cloak covering his throat. He followed it back, finding it to be flung behind him, held in place from the water it had absorbed. All he had to do was drag it closer to his body to allow himself the slack he needed to sit up.

Prying himself up from the mud was easy, even with stiff joints and aching muscles. Once sitting up, however, his head _spun_ and he groaned, leaning forward and bringing his hands to his face. Even with the cushion the mud provided… Ugh, he felt ill.

Anduin rolled onto his side and stayed there for a moment, willing his world to stop spinning around him. Before he had to tolerate the dizziness for too long, he brought a hand to the back of his head and focused, practically _begged_ the Light to come to him, to soothe the pain and heal his head. Such an injury would be _devastating_ to his ability to continue on his path home.

It took some time, but the Light bloomed sluggishly from his heart, crept weakly to his fingers, and filtered very, very slowly to his head. It was hard to keep focus, especially with how _long it was taking,_ but he knew he had to. His survival _depended on it_.

Once the spell had finished, and he’d healed himself to a _manageable_ level of head trauma, Anduin took a second to rest. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew that much was completely out of the question. Perhaps it was sooner than he should have. Perhaps he should have rested more, but Anduin dragged himself to his feet as soon as possible, reoriented his cloak over his shoulders, so its weight was more evenly spread, and tried to take stock of his surroundings.

Everything was hard to see. The rain hadn’t let up at all.

Anduin brought a hand to his face and stood there for a long moment, trying not to feel utterly _helpless_ and doing a poor job of it. It was just the head injury, he told himself. It was making things seem insurmountable when they were, in fact, just difficult. He couldn’t let himself get swept away in how hard things seemed. And yet…

And yet.

 _Look at how far I’ve come,_ he thought. _Look at all of the things I’ve gotten past. Look where I am, today._ He frowned. _Perhaps not the unknown forest, but… I’m the Prince! I survived being King, being mislead by Onyxia. I survived Father becoming two separate people and then rejoined imperfectly. I survived warrior training, being stuck in a dragon lair, the Cataclysm, royal galas! I can survive this._

Anduin brought his hand away from his eyes and looked at it, stared at the leather gloves that were already starting to come apart from the abuse they’d gone through.

He thought of his father, and how _happy_ they would be to see each other, again, when Anduin returned home. He thought of the Keep, of a fireplace, of curling up with a good book and eating a real _meal_.

“I can _do_ this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the surrounding rain. “I can do this.”

—-

Anduin decided, for lack of a better plan, to follow the bottom of the slope. With any luck, the ground would even out, and he would be able to find the road again. Worst-case scenario, he would remain just as lost as he already was, and he didn’t count that as a loss, particularly. Just… not a win.

It took him several hours - he thought - to hike along the bottom of the slope. It didn’t help that he kept slipping in the mud or having to wade through puddles. Still, he trekked on, telling himself over and over that he would be able to make it wherever he needed to go. Civilization could be right around the next corner.

By some miracle, he found the road, again, and he was so happy, he wanted nothing more than to dance on the unpaved pathway. However, he didn’t stop to celebrate, instead pushing on, practically running down the road, at first, before he stopped himself and continued at a slower pace. He had to preserve his energy.

He walked through intense hunger pains, only stopping when night fell in order to make camp near the roadside - but out of sight, in case someone hostile were to happen by. The rain had warmed considerably throughout the day before thinning and stopping altogether. Anduin took it as a good omen.

Two days of walking in soaked clothing later, Anduin finally came across a sign that he’d been looking for ever since _The Vanguard_ ran aground on these mysterious shores.

Although it wasn’t late in the afternoon, Anduin had high cliffs and mountains to his back, and the sun had already dipped below him. If it weren’t for that, he might not have seen the dots of light, hazy orange glows barely peeking out from between trees and behind bushes. _Campfires._

Overwhelmed by relief, Anduin forgot his exhaustion and took off at a run down the road, tears threatening to rise in his eyes as he approached the lights. _Campfires_ meant _people,_ and _people_ meant _help_. Perhaps they were crew members from _The Vanguard?_ Perhaps they were from any of the several ships that had accompanied the flagship? He hadn’t even _heard_ from those since the first battle, they had been scattered so badly. Perhaps they were the campfires of locals, and he might be able to _find_ the other survivors of the wrecks?

He rounded a corner that dipped behind a line of thick trees and skidded to a stop. Strange new creatures had set up a camp right by the roadside. There had to be about thirty of them, all sitting around their fires. Some were cooking, others were standing guard, and yet more seemed to be engaged in conversation, quiet words that Anduin couldn’t pick out. There were piles of belongings around, large amounts of cargo to be moved, especially for the small number. It almost looked as though they were in a permanent settlement, but the tents and fires seemed to suggest otherwise. They were quickly-made, easy to stamp out.

They weren’t like the monkey-creatures that had looted _The Vanguard_. In fact, Anduin almost thought them to be humans wearing hoods until he realized he was looking at scales and finned crests rather than crafted gear. They seemed to come in blues, greens, and even bright oranges, speckled with white or solid in color, almost like some of the fish Anduin had seen fished out of Stormwind Harbor.

He wasn’t put off by the sight of non-humans, of course, but they _were_ one of the more complicated of the situations he’d hoped for. After all, he knew what humans would do at the sight of him, and he wasn’t sure if he would be regarded as friendly. Quickly, he ducked back behind a tree and leaned against it to think. It wouldn’t do to be seen just standing there, gaping at them. It was unlikely that any of them had seen a human, before, and he didn’t want the first impression of an entire race to be… well, bad.

After calming his breathing and stilling his shaking hands, Anduin emerged from behind the tree and turned to continue down the path, to the campsite. Much to his relief - and worry - two of the creatures were heading down the path in his direction. He cleared his throat and walked with purpose, but tried to look as nonthreatening as possible. He didn’t want-

One of them drew a sword and the other followed suit, giving a cry of warning as he did so. Anduin’s eyes widened and he lifted his hands in a gesture of peace, but those still at the campsite were already gathering up their things, some outright fleeing deeper into the forest.

That. He didn’t want _that_ to happen.

“Wait!” he called to the two on the path. They started moving toward him, approaching him cautiously. “Wait, I’m not here to fight you!”

Yet, they didn’t listen. The first guard - with scales a glittering orange - yelled something, and it sounded like he was barking an order. Anduin felt magic flare to life on his right ring finger, an enchantment on his signet ring springing into action.

It was something that the Magi of Dalaran made for the leaders of the various factions of Azeroth, at request. It was to aid communication between the groups by lessening the amount of errors in translation. Arcane Lanugage, they’d called it, supposedly a spinoff of Arcane Brilliance, but with a more specified focus. When placed on an item, it would translate a language the wearer didn’t know into one they did. As he wasn’t a mage, Anduin didn’t exactly know the specifics.

“Please!” he called again, taking a hesitant step back. “I don’t want to fight. I want to talk. I need your help!”

“It’s _lying,”_ the first guard yelled, thrusting his sword in Anduin’s direction. “It wants to lead us into a trap! An ambush!”

“N- no, I-!”

“Kill it!” snarled the second guard, this one blue, with dark stripes along its body. “Kill it and leave it out as a sign to the others!”

Anduin felt a sinking feeling settle into his gut. Others? Had members of the Alliance already made contact, only for disaster to follow? Light, he hoped not.

“Please!” he tried again, his voice raw and desperate. “Please, I’m only _lost_! I need-”

“SILENCE!” the orange guard yelled. Both he and his partner stopped on the trail, swords trained on Anduin’s chest, and they were both in range where they could stab him easily and at any moment. Anduin closed his mouth obediently, but noticed that the guard seemed to hold no malice. Rather, he seemed scared. “Leave, before we gut you and leave you out as a warning.”

“B- but…” Anduin took another step back, slowly, as if his feet had already made up their minds. “I just-”

The blue guard reared back, yelling in _fury_ and swinging his sword in Anduin’s direction. The young Prince yelped and stumbled back before simply turning to run. At first, he rushed along the path, trusting its sure footing over the surrounding area.

A net flew over his head and the young Prince had to skid to a stop in the mud to avoid being trapped beneath it. Anduin whirled around to stare at his approaching attackers - two more had joined him since he’d run, and they were all making their way toward him.

“Please!” he called. “Just- I just need your help! I swear to you, I’m not-”

A spear whistled by his head, narrowly missing his head, and he stumbled sideways, his eye wide. There would be no negotiating with them. For whatever reason, these people had decided that Anduin was a threat - or he was the harbinger of an even larger one. Either way, in their fear and anger, they didn’t seem keen to reason, so Anduin held his arms out in front of himself, as if going to cast an offensive spell.

“ _Shield!”_ he yelled, and the creatures flinched back, reacting to the ripple of the Power Word around Anduin’s body. “ _Fortitude!_ ” was the next Word to leave Anduin’s lips, and in rapid succession, he felt his own sense of self preservation well up in his body before both extending outward, curling around his physical form in a shield, and flowing through his body, not _strengthening_ his muscles so much as… reinforcing them. It allowed him to turn to his right and run, full-pelt, down the small slope by the side of the road, without worrying about tiring any time soon.

He heard the creatures cry out and their footsteps thunder behind him. He didn’t want to fight them. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was fight them, and he hoped he could rely on their fear of an ambush in order to get away from them as quickly as possible. If they thought he was leading them to an ambush, they wouldn’t follow. Still, even as he ran, he heard another spear fly past his ear with a loud _woosh,_ and it embedded itself in the mud in his path. He ducked around it and kept running, cursing that he even had to try and escape in the first place.

Some time later - he wasn’t sure how long - when his legs were finally burning and his throat felt as though he’d been breathing fire, Anduin finally slowed to a stop, and he ended up falling to his knees in the mud. Mist pooled around his legs as he sat back on his heels, staring down at the muddy ground. His Shield had long since flickered out, though the blessing of Fortitude still clung to his body.

That had not gone according to plan.

—-

Ten or so minutes later, Anduin dragged himself to his feet and looked around. He was still in the middle of a hot and humid bog, and the young man wasn’t sure where to go. The path seemed to be a complete no-go at that point. Perhaps he would have been able to travel in the same direction, just… without an actual path to follow?

His stomach growled, loud and angry, Anduin sighed heavily. He decided to put his thoughts of future plans aside and locate a safe place to sit. He found a small clump of trees nestled up to a steep, rocky slope. It provided a nicely defensible location, so he lowered himself to sit against the wall for a momentary rest.

With a moment to rest and his adrenaline winding down, Anduin’s mind was left to wander. Why? Why did they attack him? Why were they so angry that they refused to even hear him talk? Why did they assume he was hostile, all of a sudden? Was it because he was a Human? Had the members of the crew really made such an impression on the people of this land?

Anduin’s stomach growled again, and he winced and wrapped his arms around himself. He felt so _stupid_. He just stumbled headlong into a dangerous situation, thinking, what? The people would welcome him with open arms? Put him up until Stormwind could be contacted and a ship could be sent? Sure, Stormwind could offer _rewards,_ but…

Anduin sighed and felt tears rise to his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but he felt them fall, rolling down his fair cheeks, and something about the sensation only summoned more. The young Prince curled forward and pressed his hands to his face, feeling, for that moment, hungry and hopeless. What was he to do? So far, in the forest, he’d seen two groups of people. One were looting his ship, likely the victors of the grizzly battle he’d heard, and the others had tried to _kill him_ , thinking he was an enemy?

What did he do wrong? Surely, he must have done something, but… he wasn’t a scary person, and he _knew_ that. The only people who were intimidated by him were intimidated by his _station_ , not by Anduin, himself, and the people of the land couldn’t _possibly_ recognize him as a Prince. They were completely unknown to the people of Stormwind! They had to be, or Anduin would have recognized them.

With a heavy sigh, Anduin dragged his hands across his face, somewhat used to the feel of the damp fabric, although he would have been in _paradise_ if he could dry them, somehow. At least he could _feel_ like he scrubbed the tears from his face, which helped… a little. What would work even better would be to rise to his feet and actually build a campfire.

Unfortunately, nothing about moving around helped. The longer he was up grabbing material to use as firewood, the worse he felt, it seemed. He was tired, fatigue setting into his very bones. Still, he worked through it, managed to make a fire, and he even brought himself to catch some dinner. With great effort, he prepared and cooked it, but by the end of all of that, he found himself curled up by the fire, wrapped in his cloak and not particularly wanting to get up.

Tears found his eyes again, but Anduin didn’t try to push them away, simply letting them fall. It wasn’t as if anyone would see him out there, campfire hidden behind trees and rocks. If he had scared those people so badly that they’d attacked him, that _must_ have meant they’d run into humans, and those humans had done something terrible, but… but why? The forces of Stormwind weren’t _like_ that. The people he was with wouldn’t just storm an unknown continent and try and _claim_ it, likely forcing people from their homes… And yet…

And yet, it seemed that was exactly what they were doing, unless… Unless there was more fighting going on in the forest than he knew about. The young Prince curled up more tightly and gave a heavy sigh. Perhaps those monkey creatures were warring with the fish creatures that had chased him from their camp. Perhaps it was yet _another_ of the ongoing battles for resources that seemed to plague Azeroth so thoroughly. Somehow, that thought didn’t end up cheering him up. If anything, he felt _worse_ , and he felt himself beginning to doubt that there could _ever_ be peace in this world.

The thought brought new tears to his eyes, and he found himself sobbing bitterly. He took deep breaths to try and calm himself, but they only brought more tears. He scrubbed at his face with a dry patch of his cloak, tried meditation, but he couldn’t focus. Nothing was stopping the tears, and at some point, Anduin simply drifted off, never quite composing himself.

—-

“He’s an idiot, Mia.”

Genn’s voice bit through the dreary silence of the Greymanes’ bedroom. The older Worgen was pacing back and forth in the limited space, looking for all the world - at least to Mia - like a caged lion. Or wolf, she supposed, idly turning a page in her book before looking up to her husband.

“I know, dear,” she murmured. Her voice seemed to soothe the Gilnean King somewhat, but she could still see that his hackles were raised, as it were. “I think this is the fifth time you’ve said as much, in the last hour.”

Genn grunted in response, and Mia watched him, waiting a few patient moments before he spoke again.

“He _is_!” he snarled insistently, never looking to his wife, but rather whirling around to pace in the opposite direction. He had enough room to take about four steps before he had to turn, which was almost certainly not satisfactory, as far as pacing went, but he continued to launch this way and that across the room. “He’s a _moron_! He won’t talk! To anyone! If he’s not working, he sits alone in his study, probably trying to _drink_ his son back home!”

“There isn’t much else he can do,” she offered, well aware she was reciting words she’d said before. It wasn’t as if Genn didn’t listen. He just had the tendency to think himself into circles when he was upset. Stubborn man. “He’s sent SI:7 out on an airship. All he can do after that is wait. Besides, he’s tending to his other duties just fine.”

“That may be so.” Genn’s pace slowed somewhat as Mia’s words took the anger from him. His shoulders even drooped a bit. “But that hardly excuses hiding away and _drinking_ himself to death.”

“He hasn’t been drinking.” Mia interrupted Genn’s rant, wrinkling her nose in distaste and frustration. “I’ve been regularly consulting the servants, and they’ve all been keeping tabs on him. He’s _not_ drinking. He doesn’t even take any alcohol at meals.”

“He still won’t _talk_ ,” he growled. “I’ve offered him help - and he’s _taken_ my help, before! But he won’t talk! He _needs_ to do something more than sit alone in his damned _study_ and stew in his misery!”

“You can’t _make_ him talk, dear.” Mia eyed her book, considering for a moment just returning to her story, but she knew Genn needed her, even if he was being a stubborn old goat and refusing the help. A smile rose to Mia’s lips, and she turned back up to face her husband. “When he wants to listen, he’ll come around, but until then, you can’t make him listen to _your_ words any more than I can make you listen to mine.”

Genn faltered, stopping in his tracks before turning to stare at Mia, his eyes wide. At first, he looked affronted, then surprised, but he finally settled on deflated acceptance. His shoulders were fully drooped, and he bowed his head, looking like a scolded puppy.

“You, ah… have a point there,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I don’t suppose _you_ could speak with him. After all, you know how to put _me_ in my place.” As he spoke, Genn slid into his place in bed beside Mia, who pulled him close, to rest his head in her lap.

“I would, Genn,” she murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “But for one, he’s _your_ friend. You know him better, and I would just be intruding.” She also didn’t want to clean up after the mess her husband left. Thankfully, she knew he wasn’t really asking that of her, but complimenting her in his own way. “You’ll be able to figure out what he needs more quickly than I.”

“When I _tried,_ we fought,” he rumbled. “If he’s going to be a stubborn ass about it-”

“Then _you_ need to be one, too.” Lightly, she tugged his hair. “But instead of being a stubborn ass about keeping away from him and pacing around your bedroom, you might just go confront him head-on and be a stubborn ass to his face.”

Genn fell silent for a long moment, during which Mia kept herself busy with Genn’s hair. Just when she’d properly distracted herself by wondering how he’d already gotten _tangles_ in it again, the Gilnean King moved. He sat up and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, though it was _his_ turn to pull her into his lap.

“You really _do_ know just what to say,” he murmured to her with a smile. “Don’t you?”

“That’s why you married me, dear.” She smiled. “When you say something pigheaded and _rude,_ I get to step in and sooth everyone you’ve made angry. Don’t I?” This elicited a loud laugh from Genn, a true belly laugh that visibly de-stressed him, and as he calmed, he cupped the back of her head in one hand.

“I can think of a few _more_ reasons,” he murmured. “And if you’d like, I’ll demonstrate one of them.”

“You _dog!_ ” It was Mia’s turn to laugh just before leaning down to take a soft kiss, giggling against Genn’s lips.

“Close… but not quite.”

—-

It was summer, and Stormwind felt cold. Genn knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it. On days where he stretched his legs, walked the streets of Stormwind City, he could see it on everyone’s faces. It was as though a dark cloud was looming over Stormwind, bringing not life-giving rain, but an oppressive darkness. Once or twice, he heard mumbling, talk of how Anduin’s disappearance left the city - the _world_ , some said - almost as cold as Queen Tiffin’s death. So many of the people of Stormwind looked as though they were forcing themselves through their daily routines.

It seemed almost absurd, that the absence of the Crown Prince would cause such a funk, a depression. Then again, while Varian was a very capable ruler, doing his best, he was not the most popular. Many saw him as a failure for not preventing Tiffin’s death, and many more still were frightened of him, having heard of his fierce temper upon returning from his time as a Gladiator.

Anduin, on the other hand, was loved by all. He hadn’t made many personal appearances, and many of the people had projected their ideals onto him. What they saw of him was like his mother - kind and giving, smart and resourceful, all qualities Varian had, but Anduin _looked_ like his mother. That was enough for the people, but Anduin was also seen as sympathetic. Crowned King at a young age, having lost both of his parents (one coming back worse than before, according to the people), stuck under Onyxia’s claw as just a child. Anduin not being in the city was seen as a disaster almost on-par with the Cataclysm, itself.

Genn couldn’t help but find some level of sick humor in it. No one complained about the city’s metaphorical temperature when their Prince was off on The Exodar. No one claimed that Stormwind’s Keep seemed empty and hollow without the young blond’s smiling face when he was spending his time with the Dwarves in Ironforge, rather than his people. No one bemoaned the cruelty of the universe when they _knew_ Anduin’s whereabouts. However… Genn knew the difference. He knew it all too well.

Perhaps he was bitter. They didn’t even know for certain Anduin was _dead_ ; the last word of him was that he was _safe_ , and they were practically planning his funeral. It stung Genn to remember his own son’s, and it hurt more, still, to see some of the nobles almost _excited_ to speak of it, as if the Prince’s disappearance was just the latest juicy gossip, rather than a young man in peril and his father - _their King_ \- in anguish.

The day after he’d spoken with Mia, Genn was wandering the streets once again. It was something he’d taken to doing some time after moving to Stormwind, particularly because he hadn’t much to do, as a King more or less without a Kingdom. He had considerably more free time than he’d ever had, before, and he used it as constructively as possible. As it happened, it was incredibly constructive for the Worgen King to take some time to himself, and walks were soothing.

Usually.

The dark cloud hanging over Stormwind was thick, that day, and even though it was late summer (and in _Stormwind,_ for pity’s sake), he could see one or two of the city’s people shiver. His usual reaction was to laugh inwardly, to ponder Stormwind citizens’ lack of ability to weather the cold, but he knew better, that day, and not because of the seasonable heat that had settled uncomfortably over the land.

The only heir to Stormwind’s throne had gone missing. The feeling in the air was a vast hopelessness, and Genn did not want to stay in it for long. He returned to the Keep with hurried steps, glad he hadn’t let Mia or Tess join him on the day’s stroll. They wouldn’t have wanted to see the despondency. Mia would have mourned her lack of ability to help, and Tess would have simply mourned right alongside the people.

When he returned to the Keep, Genn Greymane did not encounter the sad and silent masses. Rather, on his way up the long and vast hallway to the Throne Room, the sound of yelling reached the Worgen’s ears. He frowned deeply and hurried his pace, ignoring the sidelong glances the guards gave him.

“So what, _King Wrynn,_ do you propose we do!?” The voice was none other than that of Count Remington Ridgewell, one of the House of Nobles. He was deeply interested in preserving the history of Azeroth - particularly of the Human Kingdoms’. What did he want with Varian?

“We wait,” came the reply so quiet, Genn had to strain to hear it. He hurried into the throne room and spied Varian, who was sitting on his throne - something he generally didn’t make a habit of - and watching as the furious noble, clad in well-tailored clothes of vibrant saffron and dark ebony, stood in front of him, one foot very nearly on the steps leading up to the Throne. He gesticulated wildly, and Genn almost expected a snarl to issue forth from his lips.

“Wait!?” he nearly screamed. “What the hell am I supposed to tell my family? My _workers_! They’re _convinced_ this economy - this _Kingdom_ \- will collapse without your son, and you want us to sit back and wait!?”

“There is nothing else we can do.” Varian’s voice remained quiet. His arms rested listlessly on the rests of the throne, and he was leaned back. He looked the picture of a disaffected King. “SI:7 is on their way. We must simply wait until-”

“Until what!?” the man practically roared, leaning forward only slightly, as if threatening to move forward onto the steps. The guards on either side of the throne room appeared apprehensive, and Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth watched on with furrowed brows, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Until they get to this new land and return with the corpse of our Prince!? Wait for the people to riot in the streets, because their King failed to protect his son!?”

A heavy silence settled over the room, and all eyes were trained on Varian. Still, he didn’t react; he barely moved. He only looked on at Ridgewell, seemingly indifferent to the man’s plight. Genn furrowed his brows and, slowly, stepped around the Noble until he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, as close to standing by Varian’s side as he could, given the circumstances. He didn’t want to ascent the stairs and take a high position over the ranting nobleman, as much as he would have liked the higher ground. No sense in being intimidating.

“There is nothing we can do. We don’t know how long the travel there will take. We need to trust SI:7 to do their jobs. There is nothing more any of us can do-”

“You’ve been saying the same things over and over again!” Ridgewell’s voice was loud, almost enough that it hurt Genn’s ears. “Are you so worthless without your advisers here to feed lines into your ears? To put words into your mouth!?”

Genn glanced around to see if Varian’s advisers were around and, sure enough, they weren’t anywhere in sight. It seemed Ridgewell’s appearance wasn’t scheduled or foreseen, as Counselor Acker, at _least_ , tried to make sure she was as on top of things as possible.

“That’s enough,” Jes-Tereth growled. “You know not of what you speak, Ridgewell. If I were you, I’d-” She silenced herself when Varian lifted a hand, and with furrowed brows and a wrinkled nose, she closed her mouth. A fierce look settled on her face; she was not keen on being told to quiet.

“They don’t need to put words into my mouth, Remington,” Varian rumbled. “There is simply no other solution. Tell your family and your workers that we have the best possible people aboard the fastest ship to find the Prince. Their patience will be rewarded. Anduin is strong, resourceful and smart, he-”

“Smarter than you!” Ridgewell snapped, his eyes wide and furious. “Face it, Majesty! We all know the Kingdom would have been better off if _you_ had gone missing, instead of your son. People wouldn’t be out on the streets at a loss for words or _hope_ in a bright future! You bring us nothing but-”

“ _Enough_ ,” Genn snarled, feeling fur raise on the back of his neck. “Speaking out of anger will solve _nothing_. Stormwind - _the Alliance_ \- is doing all it can to find its Prince. If that is not enough for you, you can charter a ship and head out there _yourself_.”

A silence fell over the room, and Jes-Tereth snorted, a smirk playing over her lips. Varian watched idly as Ridgewell whirled on the Worgen and narrowed his eyes. Genn lifted his shoulders and stood up to his full height. The only reason he regretted staying in his human form was that he didn’t have the added height. As a Worgen, he was taller than Varian, when he straightened up.

“Are you _threatening_ me, Greymane?” Ridgewell growled, though he stepped back, angling one foot out, as if he was preparing to turn and run.

“I don’t hear a threat.” Jes-Tereth spoke up, sounding almost chipper about the whole situation. “I think he’s giving you an option, Ridgewell. Either shut your mouth or race SI:7 to find the Prince. It’s your choice.”

It was the happiest Genn thought he’d ever seen Jes-Tereth, and, honestly, Genn found himself smiling some when the nobleman’s face turned bright red. He seemed to puff up for a moment before simply turning around and storming out without offering another word.

Genn and the Grand Admiral watched as Ridgewell left, only taking their eyes away from the retreating nobleman when Varian rose to his feet. They turned, waiting attentively for him to speak to them, as he almost certainly had something to address. However, all Varian did was turn and leave, slipping through the massive doors to his right and disappearing back toward the private quarters.

Genn felt his hackles raise again, and the growing points of his teeth nearly dug into the inside of his cheek before he realized what was happening. He had to take a few deep breaths, to calm his own anger, before rushing off after the Stormwind King.

“Varian! _Varian!”_ No amount of deep breaths of pseudo-meditation could keep the frustration out of Genn’s voice, at that point. He snarled his fellow King’s name and followed closely on his heels, but Varian didn’t seem to want to stop. Genn, thankfully, had enough presence of mind not to _touch_ the usually so ill-tempered King, but the temptation was hard to resist.

Varian only stopped when he made it into his own study and had a seat at his desk. He didn’t close the door behind him, and Genn took it as an invitation. He let himself in and slammed the door _himself._ Varian merely sat and looked down at the papers on his desk. Genn swallowed the snarl that threatened to rise within his throat. He lifted a hand, ready to sweep Varian’s papers from his desk, but he curled his fingers into a fist and lowered it, clenching it rhythmically to calm himself down.

“Why are you ignoring me, Wrynn?”

Varian didn’t look up from his papers as he sorted through them. He merely continued on as if Genn wasn’t even in the room with him, sifting through paperwork and sliding particularly large bunches of it to one side, perhaps to focus on later. Varian wasn’t actually picking any papers up for any amount of time, and Genn noticed, after watching him for only a moment or two, that his hands were shaking too much.

“What are you doing, Varian?” he growled, his voice growing softer only in volume, not in tone. His words still came out in quick snaps. “What is this? You’re going to let the man berate you up and down the Keep’s walls and then bury your nose in paperwork, so you don’t have to think about it anymore?”

Varian slid a sheet of paper toward himself and then flipped it over, checking for any more words before he set it aside, sorting it into its pile.

“Do you think you deserve it?” he growled. “Do you think you deserve to have one of your people talk to you like that? To call you _worthless_ while you sit on the throne?”

“He’s entitled to his opinion.”

“He may well be entitled to his opinion, Varian, but he’s not entitled to sharing it with you when you’re supposed to be _working!_ ” Genn smacked his hands down on Varian’s desk and leaned forward, leaning toward Varian’s face to properly level a fierce glare at him.

Varian shot him a weak glare - so weak, Genn thought it might have been a _sad_ expression - before returning to his papers. Everything seemed to click into place.

“He wasn’t interrupting much,” Genn snapped. “Even I’m just interrupting your daily schedule of _moping_ , aren’t I?”

  
Varian flinched - _flinched!_ \- and kept his focus stalwartly on his papers, which he wasn’t even shuffling around any more. They, and his hands, lay flat on his desk.

“ _Look at me_ , Wrynn!” Genn slammed his fist into the desk, hoping to startled Varian into looking up, but the King only flinched and remained looking toward the desk. “Grow a spine and _look at me!_ Can you really not function without your _son_ here?”

“You don’t understand, Genn.” Varian’s voice was a growl - barely that. Hell, it was so weak, it might as well have been a kitten’s purr. Nothing like the lion’s roar Genn was looking for. “It isn’t your son that’s missing.”

“No, but it’s YOUR KINGDOM I must see suffering!” Genn flexed his fingers. Oh, how they _itched_ to sprout claws and dig into the wood. “Ridgewell was more right than he thought, wasn’t he? About the Advisers feeding you every word. You haven’t been doing anything these past few days, have you? You’ve been laying around in your study feeling sorry for yourself while you leave your Advisers to run the war and the Kingdom, haven’t you!? _Haven’t you!?_ ”

“Are you saying I have poor taste in Advisers, Genn?” Varian looked up, and his face was finally set firmly, in a glare that seemed mildly annoyed. At least it wasn’t sad, but it wasn’t quite what Genn was looking for.

“Well, you don’t exactly have the best record, now, do you?”

The room fell silent, and Varian sat up straight. His shoulders lifted, squared, and Varian’s eyes widened. There. _That_ was more like it. Genn found himself grinning, and he ran his tongue along the forming points of his teeth.

“Be careful with that _tongue_ of yours, you-”

“Said that a lot, did she?”

Varian’s fist hit him so quickly, he didn’t have time to even _think_ about getting out of the way. Within seconds, Genn was knocked back on the floor, and the familiar feeling of magic encased his body, stretched his limbs and pointed his claws. He gladly welcomed the feeling of his other form taking over, reveling in the release it gave him to not have to hold back.

He rolled aside, and onto his feet, thankful that Varian didn’t follow him to continue the beating. He brought one large hand to the side of his muzzle and laughed.

“I’m taking that as a yes, Varian.”

“Whatever you want, so long as you take it with _this_.” Varian sent his fist flying toward the Worgen again, though Genn backed up, and Varian realized all too late that he’d put far too much momentum into an incomplete stance. Without Genn to break his movement, Varian lurched forward, stumbled around his desk as he tried desperately not to fall. And Genn _laughed_.

“What is WRONG with you, Greymane!?” Varian snarled, regaining his footing in record time and launching himself at the old Worgen. Genn didn’t seem fast enough to dodge _that,_ as he was immediately thrown back into the door to Varian’s study. The Human King stepped back, his teeth bared in a threat as he allowed Genn to stand up straight.

“What’s wrong with _you_ , Varian?” Genn snapped. “Moping around like all is lost! You’re the _King,_ damn it! You can’t afford that - your _people_ can’t afford that, especially not _now_ , with war staring us in the face! You have to pull yourself _together_ , whether or not your son lives!”

Varian tackled him again, but that time the door didn’t hold up to the combined weight of two very large men. It swung open and both men came tumbling out, somehow managing to stay on their feet. Varian swiped with his fist, clipping Genn across the muzzle. The Worgen spun with the momentum, however small it wass, purposefully using it to turn so he could bolt down the hallway.

Varian grabbed the nearest object - a short sword held by a nearby guard - and gave chase. He didn’t care if the guards followed, whether they were trying to stop him or help him out. He _ran_.

The hallway was nowhere proper to fight, and Genn was determined to give the two as much space as possible. He knew exactly where a nice big, open courtyard was, and he intended to make it there without Varian catching up. As it happened, that wasn’t very hard, as Varian was still wearing all of his armor, and Genn, well, Genn was a Worgen.

His sprint took him to the courtyard, where he spun and offered a lupine grin in Varian’s direction, but the face fell considerably when he saw what the King had acquired.

“A sword, Varian!?”

“What’s the matter!?” Varian actually grinned, then, as he came to a stop in front of the Gilnean King and held the short sword out in front of his body. His only regret was that he didn’t grab another. “Don’t think you can handle it!?”

“Well, _I_ can,” he rumbled, regaining the grin he’d had before. “I’m just worried you might hurt yourself. It’s a much bigger sword than you’re used to, after all.”

Varian grinned and, upon hearing the clattering of plate as some guards approached, Varian turned back to one and held his hand out. The guard approached and handed over his weapon, understanding his King immediately. Genn couldn’t help but feel oddly proud at the sight.

Varian turned back to Genn, the scars across his face stretching and crinkling as he grinned the widest grin Genn had ever seen, since Anduin went missing. Varian finally looked _alive,_ like he wasn’t simply drifting through his life but - at least for a moment - he was on his feet and _doing_ something.

“Well, then, Genn,” Varian rumbled, mocking a threat in his voice even as he grinned so widely. The guards around them shuffled, nervous, but they seemed to relax as Varian twirled one of the swords, testing the flexibility in his wrist. He was cocky. That was good. “Let’s see if I remember how to dual wield.”

—-

Waking up was getting harder and harder each day.

It had only been two days since Anduin had been chased away by the strange new creatures. Two days since, it seemed, he’d found his one chance at salvation and apparently ruined it. Anduin shook his head, hard, to clear away those thoughts.

“I can’t be thinking like this,” he mumbled to the air. By that point, at least, his cloak had finally dried out, and it was once again providing himself with something warm to sleep under. It wasn’t quite so much of a struggle to pull himself to his feet _that_ morning. At least, not because of the temperature.

Food was just as hard to find as ever, perhaps even _harder_ than before. Ever since his long sprint through the forest, Anduin had found… Light, he couldn’t even quantify it. More likely than not, the small number would just _depress_ him. It would suffice to say that he was hungry and leave it at that.

“I just need to find food and keep going.” His voice was a low mumble, but it hadn’t quite grown hoarse and scratchy from misuse, one of the reasons - he felt - that he kept talking to himself. He didn’t want to have it damaged from lack of use or something, although, surely, that was something one could recover from. “Just… find food and keep going.”

It had become a mantra of sorts, over the last few days. _Find food and keep going._ But what else was he to do? He had no idea where he was, no idea where anyone _else_ was, and no clue what he was doing. All he could do was _find food and keep going_. It wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to him at that point, and certainly not _before_ everything had happened. Before the massive naval battle that he’d _missed_.

“Horde airships,” Anduin mumbled. “Possibly _ship_ ships, too.” He snorted. “Ship ships. Eloquent. Anyway, how would I know? I was locked in my _cabin_ for the whole thing, I-” He cut himself off, abruptly, recognizing that his voice was getting a bit loud. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was lure a predator his way. Best to stop thinking aloud, he supposed.

How did so many people just disappear, anyway? Shouldn’t he have seen survivors? Any survivors? Any signs of life beyond what was native to the land?

Anduin sighed, rubbed at the back of his neck, and kicked out the remnants of the fire. The scuff of dirt and the faint, dying sounds of the fire practically echoed around him, in the vast emptiness of the forest. He looked up and around, surveying the area for predators.

 _Vast emptiness,_ he thought, his voice just as wry and unamused in his head as it was when he spoke aloud. _This forest is rife with living things, but because I can’t see a single human face, suddenly it’s vast emptiness. That’s hardly fair…_

And yet no amount of logic seemed to quell the knot of loneliness coiling low in his chest. It weighed heavily on his lungs, but he refused to stop breathing for it. After all, if he wanted to do anything, if he wanted to go home, to see his Father, his people, ever again, he had to… well. _Find food and keep going_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: starvation, fighting, violence, peril


	6. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin’s travels through the strange land become more and more perilous. Meanwhile, Varian seems to be dealing with his son’s disappearance better by the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings are listed in the notes at the end of the chapter.

The beach. He was at the beach.

 

Well, not a beach  exactly . There was only a small strip of dark, thick sand separating the misty swamps of wherever he'd ended up from the ocean that stretched out before him, but he supposed that technically made it the beach. It certainly wasn't as fun as the beach.

 

Anduin let out a heavy sigh and lowered himself to a sit on the sand, careful not to rest himself in the mud. Not that it mattered, at that point. He was completely filthy and lacked any way to  really wash himself. All he could do was rinse in whatever water he found, and seawater wasn't exactly  good for that. He'd have to find a river or a lake or something, if there even was one, nearby.

 

The young prince sighed, shook his head, and ignored his belly as it growled for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Hell, that  hour . He'd been walking around for days, enough that he had lost track of them, by that point. Not only that, but he was fairly certain he was going in circles. He kept trying to maneuver away from the beach, but always wound up back toward it. Maybe he had some kind of predisposition for the ocean, considering he'd grown up next to it his entire life. He laughed bitterly.

 

“I'm trying to go  home, feet,” he murmured, looking down at his legs, stretched out in front of him. His boots were caked in mud and grass, and his pants weren't faring much better. “That means I'm trying to find out where I am, not go back to the ocean.” He sighed heavily and pulled up the hood of his cloak, so he could lay back on the sand without getting any in his hair.

 

“Anyway, the shore would be a good idea, if I was on the Eastern Kingdoms,” he mumbled, no longer caring how he sounded, speaking aloud to himself. Some part of him knew he should have been trying to keep away from possible predators, but he was beyond caring, by that point. “I might be able to locate  something resembling a port or a Stormwind fort or... something.”

 

The young Prince heaved a heavy sigh and pushed himself back up, to a sitting position, so he could get a better look around himself, although he knew what he was going to see. He was only sitting on a very small stretch of beach, flanked on either side by stark cliffsides that reached up into the mist. He had no idea how tall they were, but he'd run into many of the... well, they were effectively naturally formed rock pillars, not like anything he'd ever seen, before.

 

They looked sort of like the mesas of Mulgore, but he'd only ever read about those, seen depictions of them in the books he'd read, but they seemed different, somehow. He wasn't sure. Either way, they were good proof that he wasn't on the Eastern Kingdoms.  Maybe he was on Kalimdor, but they had been sailing for longer than that...

 

Either way, they represented one  big problem with his follow-the-shore-to-a-port idea.

 

“Not that I can even follow the shore,” he mumbled gently, a pout forming on his lips. “With cliffs like these in the way. And I can't find a  river to follow to civilization, so  that plan is out. I've...” He sighs heavily and looks out, to try and find the location of the sun. “I've been trying to use the sun to go  east, but it's impossible to find through the mist and the trees, especially by mid-day...”

 

His voice faded in his throat, and he frowned thoughtfully up to the treetops.

 

“You're talking to yourself, Wrynn,” he mumbled and pushed himself up to his feet. “You promised yourself you wouldn't do that. You  promised . And you're still doing it!” He sighed and pressed his hand to his eyes, holding his head for a moment, just to try and calm himself down.

 

At the very least, talking to himself helped keep his voice from going too raspy from a lack of use, and the  sound of someone speaking was soothing, even if it was his own voice. That... was troubling.

 

“Alright,” he sighed gently. “I'm hungry, and I don't have anything but my knife. If I had a fishing pole, I could probably catch some dinner.” The young Prince glanced around, his brows furrowed in thought as he considered his surroundings. The trees around him seemed sturdy. They were made almost exclusively of long, thin poles, that... he honestly hadn't tested, yet. Anduin made his way over to a sapling and prodded at it. It was... springy, but sturdy. “Hm... I could...” He glanced over to the water. “Yes...”

 

\---

 

Some time later - he really had stopped keeping track - Anduin was feeling very confident about that night, about dinner, and about the future of his self-defense.

 

The young Prince was stripped down to his trousers - which he'd rolled up to about his knees, to allow him to wade out into the water. He hadn't made it  too far, as the dropoff was steep, and sudden, but he found what he could have only surmised was the best place to stand. He hadn't exactly found himself a prime fishing location, but it was going to have to do.

 

He hadn't managed to prize the sapling from the ground, but he'd found another that had been uprooted - or perhaps a branch, he supposed - and he was able to sharpen the end of it. It wasn't the best spear that had even been crafted, but it was the best spear  he had ever crafted, so he took it as a small victory. Never mind the fact that he'd never crafted any spears, before.

 

Nor had he gone spear  fishing , but it was something he knew how to do, at least. The first part had to do with waiting and keeping very still. Easy enough: He had the stamina, he could do it. He kept his eyes trained on the waters. As he was working, earlier, he'd seen some fish. Not a lot, but... some. He couldn't exactly afford to be picky, right then, seeing as how they were all he had.

 

If Anduin looked up, he could see the vast ocean stretched out before him. The horizon would have been flat, were it not for the vast cliffs jutting up from the water, standing high, proud pillars of stone, growing thinner at their tops until they resulted in somewhat rounded-off plateaus. They were old stone, worn into organic shape by years of weathering.

 

They were apparently fertile, as Anduin could easily spot thick layers of grass and foliage on any somewhat horizontal surface he could see. A few of the large cliffs even sported trees, either pointed, meandering, up toward the sky or curving lazily off of the very sides. He wasn't sure if that was a product of erosion or simply the way they had evolved. He suspected the latter, from the way all of their leaves were growing on the top of the tree or curved around their own trunks to better reach the sky.

 

The sun had dipped behind one of those cliffs by the time Anduin managed to spear himself some dinner. He'd thankfully had the foresight to put together another campfire so he could  cook that dinner, and also so he could secure himself a good place to sleep.

 

It was a similarly soothing landscape, with cliffs, a relatively small, but still flat and smooth stretch of grass that separated the tiny beach from the marshes beyond. It was dotted with a few trees, and if Anduin didn't know any better, he might have thought he was on a relaxing vacation, just from his current view, alone.

 

Anduin settled himself down next to his small fire, lifted his knife, and set to preparing his dinner.

 

\---

 

“Honestly, the two of you...” Mia clicked her tongue, ignoring the servant behind her as he set her plate down in front of her without so much as a sound. “A  fight in the middle of the damned courtyard.”

 

“You're still angry about that?” Varian's voice was quiet, but the mirth in it was easily gleaned by the other three at the table. Genn snickered in response. Mia shook her head. “Relax. It was some of the most fun I've had in years.”

 

“It was  reckless, ” she snapped. “And you could have seriously hurt one-another. Don't  ever do it again!”

 

“Mia,” Genn cooed, intending to soothe his wife, but it only seemed to ruffle her, more. “Neither of us got  hurt , and you  did tell me to do something, anyway.”

 

Mia only rolled her eyes. By that point, they'd had the same conversation several times in a row. She insisted the two of them had been idiots, they insisted it was a  fantastic idea. Usually, she would go on to point out how much healing had been required, and the fact that Genn had ruined one of his shirts. That time, however, she decided to leave it. The conversation was hardly worth rehashing a fifteenth time, give or take.

 

“None for me, thank you,” Genn murmured to the servant who had popped up at his side, with his usual drink in hand. “Just bring me some water, will you? I'd rather not, ah,  drink this evening.” It was possible he  thought his nod in Varian's direction was subtle, although it was possible that it actually was, and Varian was just a perceptive man. Either way, the attempt didn't go unnoticed.

 

“It's alright, Genn,” Stormwind's King offered. “Drink whatever you like. I haven't been so much as  tempted since our little... training exercise.”

 

Genn laughed. Mia rolled her eyes. Tess snorted.

 

“Some training exercise,” offered the Princess. She was eager to start on dinner, even though they were still waiting for all of the food to be placed on the table before they ate. Might as well have a nice conversation while they waited. “You know, mine don't usually end up in someone bleeding. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

 

“How  is your training with Celestine going?” Genn asked, and suddenly everyone's attention was fixed directly onto Tess, who offered them all a bright smile. She quite liked it when they asked about her studies; she enjoyed speaking of them, especially if it offered her the opportunity to share a bit of wisdom with her father and King Wrynn.

 

“It's going very well!” she chirped, sitting up straight in her chair. “We've been considering a trip to Darnassus, actually, to visit both our people and the Night Elves, there, to learn and train, but also to pay our people a visit and allow them more audience than they are usually permitted, living so far away.”

 

“Excellent.” Genn gave his daughter an approving nod. His eyes shined with pride, and Tess responded with a smile - touched, but also pleased to see her father so supportive. He wasn't always the warmest man, but apparently the somewhat tropical climate of Stormwind was enough to warm his heart.

 

That, and the death of her brother.

 

“That's a wonderful thing for a future Queen to do.” Mia spoke gently. Pride weighed just as heavily in her words as it had on Genn's shoulders, but there was something else there. Something Tess wondered if she would  ever stop hearing amidst her parents’ compliments. “Not only will you learn from them, you will improve their morale. To know that the royal family cares is very important for the peasantry.”

 

Tess glanced in Varian's direction. The man wasn't looking at the Greymanes, anymore. His attention was drawn off to the side. Presumably, he was staring into the space next to him, as his eyes were otherwise fixed on a bare wall. Tess, herself, was surprised to see a lack of sadness in Varian's gaze. Instead, he looked merely thoughtful.

 

“It's important...” Tess confirmed gently as she returned her own gaze to her parents. “To keep in touch with them, when they are so far away. Couriers are one thing, but a direct visit means so much more.”

 

Varian turned back to face Tess with a wide smile crinkling his eyes. The face was one she'd only ever seen Varian level at his son.

 

“I couldn't agree more, Tess!”

 

\---

 

The click of heels on stone. The scent of smoke covered by thick perfume. The rustle of fabric that always sounded like it should have been leather, when it was only ever a Stormwind-style dress – light and breathable, yet not so thin as to be... indecent.

 

Not that she would have minded much, he was sure.

 

A smile and a laugh that to others was the soft ringing of a bell, but to him was the harsh screech of a hawk diving after its prey. Hands that others thought looked  so soft, but clamped around his shoulders like shackles around a convict.

 

“Why are you here, Lady Prestor?” A question posed in a voice much deeper than she'd ever gotten the privilege to hear. “You're dead.”

 

“Oh, my dear little boy...” A purr, almost cartoonishly sinister. Rather than crawl down his back, the sound only made him snort. “You'll never get rid of me. I am a constant. A fixture. I will remain forever embedded into your feeble little mind.”

 

The brush of claws against his throat, and suddenly they weren't walking along the halls of Stormwind Keep, anymore. Stone hot against his back, and heat wafting up from magma  just beneath it. Noise – the sounds of claws scraping against the rock and metal against metal.

 

“You're in over your head.” A mockery of the smooth tones that once rang across the Throne Room. Now a growl, demonic, rasping against a throat that was built of stronger stuff than human flesh. “You'll die here, little boy, no matter how hard your father searches nor how fast he runs!”

 

“Father can run pretty fast.” Weak, raspy, but deep. Still deep. Deeper than she had ever heard, would ever hear. It didn't crack. Hadn't in a long time. “But I don't need him to get away from you. I did it, before, when I was small and weak. When he was nowhere around.”

 

“You will always be small and weak compared to my kind.”

 

Footsteps. Fast and harsh. His own legs, moving, propelling him forward. Rocks. Each step risky and fragile, like the earth beneath him would crumble and send him tumbling into the magma below. Sometimes the rocks felt like grass.

 

Wind in his ears.

 

Screeching behind him. Many voices, many bodies rushing after him. Burning in his lungs. Claws, like spears, digging into the too-soft ground. Aimed at his back. Tears stinging his eyes. Burning. Dry. Humid?

 

Claws in his back. Blood in his mouth.

 

“ You will die here. ”

 

The first thing he noticed was that he most certainly was not dead. The second thing he noticed was that he was sweating. Anduin rolled over onto his side and curled up tightly beneath his cloak. He had yet to open his eyes, and yet he could still tell that the sun hadn't yet risen.

 

He'd have thought that, with a full belly, a warm campfire, and dry clothes, he'd have slept soundly throughout the entire night. However, it didn't seem as though that were the case. Obviously. He sighed lightly to himself and reached up, to find the hood of the cloak so he could pull it over his head and maybe – just maybe – get himself some proper rest.

 

A noise jarred him, shattered  that hope just as easily as thin glass. The young Prince rolled onto his back and pushed himself up, to better gaze out across his campsite. The fire was still burning, although it had weakened some since he'd first built it, without him awake to tend to it. Still, it provided enough light to see, just barely.

 

It was easy to survey the area; he'd tucked his campsite up against the cliffside, and kept the water close enough to form another natural barrier, but far enough away that the tide would do him no harm or discomfort. The grass stretched out in front of him about ten yards until another cliff provided yet another barrier.

 

Anduin saw nothing that seemed too out of the ordinary. The trees and the large bushes clumped around the edge of the clearing swayed lightly in the breeze, eliciting a similar noise to what he'd heard. A rustle. It must have just been some small animal moving about at night.

 

He was starting to get paranoid.

 

You will die here.

 

As if to brush away the thoughts, Anduin lifted one hand to sift his fingers through his hair. The voice from his dream filtered in as easily as ever, almost so familiar that he barely even noticed it. Still, given the unfamiliar scenery, the danger all around him, it was hard to ignore.

 

Calm down, Wrynn, he thought as he lowered himself back down to the grass, still warm from his body heat. Normally, it would have been such a welcoming comfort, a coziness he was hard-pressed to find when days before he was soaked and freezing in unseasonable cold. However, now that the climate had warmed and Anduin was  already sticky with the sweat of his own apprehension, he’d have much rather the grass been cooler.

 

At the very least, it provided him something to focus on, rather than the figments of his imagination that danced around in the grass behind him. It certainly wasn’t the most pleasant thing to think about, but it was something, at least, and as tired as he was, the relatively boring train of thought made it so easy for the world to simply drift out from underneath him. The warmth of the ground hardly mattered as it dissolved away beneath his body.

 

Literally.

 

Anduin felt his arm lowering, as if he was stretching it out to reach something, and yet it was the only thing that kept in contact with the ground…

 

His eyes shot open. He was being  lifted . Something strong and thick had wrapped around his middle and was steadily pulling him away from the ground. He stared down at his hand as the backs of his knuckles scraped against the warm, muddy earth until they were finally no longer making contact. His other arm was pinned to his side, and the cloak was bunched oddly.

 

Perhaps it was only a few seconds, but Anduin felt it took him entirely too long to try and look toward his midsection to see what  had him. He craned his neck down to get a better look, only to find breathing difficult. The way his body was angled, head toward the ground, and the  tight grip around him, made it so hard to get a breath around the weight of his own body.

 

He was lifted even higher, quickly, and turned right-side up, angled just right so he could see the cluster of blue dots beneath him, eyes shining brightly from beneath clumps of grass and moss, organisms that looked astonishingly like they were made of wood, but Anduin suspected they were not, at all.

 

They might have burned like it, though. It didn't take much effort - given the adrenaline that shot through his veins - to call to the Light and bring it forth, like fire, to his fingertips. He rained down onto the creature that held him, striking it firmly in the arm. For his efforts, Anduin was rewarded, but not in the manner he had hoped. The creature screamed in pain - a disturbingly human sound - and flung him away.

 

He sailed through the air, and came down hard - yet mercifully - into the surf. The slight stretch of sand was soft, thankfully, much softer than the stony cliffs and the admittedly loamy earth. Although the throw had disoriented him, Anduin knew enough to roll out of the water and onto his feet. The faster he regained his footing, the better off he was.

 

Unfortunately, he realized, as he surveyed his situation, there were at least ten of the beasts, and he stood between all of them and the ocean, with cliffs flanking the whole group. He'd picked a defensible little corner of the forest, but unfortunately, that was exactly what he'd run himself into.

 

A corner.

 

Not good, Wrynn, he thought, his hand itching for his bow.  Not good at all.

 

Perhaps... no. Perhaps they could be reasoned with? He was still wearing his ring. If they had a language, it would be translated, as long as it was given enough time... It was worth a shot.

 

“I mean you no harm!” he called, his voice strong in the night air. He felt the ring warm against his skin as the spell took effect. Normally, it was so easy to ignore, but it was always the tense situations that had him acutely aware of his fingers. “Please, I've no desire to fight you!”

 

They continued to advance in their slow shamble, as if they were dragging roots behind them, even though Anduin could tell that was not the case. Either they couldn't understand, or they didn't care to. Either way, it posed the same problem. Just how would he get away?

 

His thoughts were solidly interrupted when one of the creatures got close and hunkered down. Anduin watched, perplexed, before he remembered that they were all  hostile, and he brought the Light to his hand, readying a spell as fast as he could. He could see the mist that roiled around the creature's body thickening, and two of the other creatures - each on one side of the group - hunkered down and began the same process.

 

The others, he noticed, were not moving, and all at once, Anduin knew what he had to do. He needed to stop the three from... doing whatever they were about to do, and scatter the others as well., and he had one sure-fire way to do that... but it was a shadow spell. Still, he knew what he had to do.

 

Fear. He had to conjure fear and... no. He had to conjure the will to intimidate? Anduin frowned deeply. Shadow spells were very often linked to the will to do harm to others, or at the very least negative energy and emotions. Fear, anger, sadness, and usually the desire to push those away from yourself and onto another. The ultimate darkening of the universe...

 

Instinctively, Anduin felt for the Light, and though it came easily to his grasp, it was not what he needed. If anything, it soothed away his fear and allowed him clearer focus... but that wasn't what he wanted. The fog around the three monsters was growing thicker by the second, and though it had yet to spread outward from them, he knew he had a small window, and it was rapidly closing.

 

Fear.  Fear. He was afraid, he  knew he was. The adrenaline did nothing to dampen the shake in his hands and the rapid, almost painful beating of his heart against his ribcage. He focused hard on that, squeezing his eyes shut to better visualize it. His own fear would be enough to project outward, across the clearing to seep into the minds of each of the mossy and vine-covered creatures. Tendrils of shadow would squirm into their heads, into their minds, and for a few blessed seconds, it would convert to raw terror and cause them all to run. He would be their worst nightmare.

 

He couldn't feel the Shadow, however. It was such a distinct feeling, when he readied a spell. The first time he'd cast a Psychic Scream - in a controlled environment, under Velen's tutelage - he could feel a cold presence gripping at his mind and curling in his mouth. It was not so, that night. He felt perhaps the barest whisper of a chill, and yet he attempted his attack, anyway. He  had to.

 

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, and regret chased the spell from his mind just as searing pain chased the vision from his eyes and the taste from his throat. Anduin drew his cloak up around his face to protect himself from any more of the fog. Unfortunately, it did just what was intended, and in a matter of seconds, Anduin felt the hard vines wrap around his abdomen until he was hoisted up again.

 

The only relief was that he was lifted into the cool, clear air, which he gulped down in desperation. His eyes were watering furiously, and he could see nothing. All he could focus on was the burning in his lungs, the stinging in his eyes, and the tight grip of the creature's vined hands tightening around his midsection once more. All he heard was the sound of vague hissing, twigs snapping, mud squelching under the creatures' feet as the vines connected to them squirmed through the mud and grass beneath them.

 

One of the creatures let out a scream that chilled Anduin's blood in his veins. He felt more tendrils lash at his legs, at his face. They'd have gone for his arms, if they weren't pinned fast to his sides. A few slithered through his hair, catching the fine strands on their gnarled, woodlike hands, and the creature used its grip to jerk his head back.

 

“...the one!” Anduin's eyes snapped open, and he could barely see through the pain and the tears, but he'd heard a voice, he knew he did. “This is the one!”

 

“What  is it?” A similar voice could be heard. Anduin couldn't see well enough to know  which was talking, or even if it was a different one, for sure. Either way, he felt the tingling coming from his ring, and something about them being sentient, intelligent beings with language only made his heart sink.

 

“I know not...” the first voice hissed, slithering from its owners mouth like so many worms. “But this fleshy... pink  thing must serve as a lesson to be sent back to its own kind.”

 

“What even  are its own kind?” Another tendril slid over his ankle, then jerked sharply at his leg, causing him to cry out in pain. “It is not a Jinyu - it has no scales. And it is pink.”

 

“Nor is it one of the Pandaren...” Anduin had enough sense of mind to squint down at the creature. Pandaren... he'd heard that name, before. “It is too small, and it has no fur.”

 

“No fur, no scales... no  bark! ” Yet another creature wheezed out a sickening laugh. The sound crawled all over Anduin's skin, even, momentarily, distracting him from the burning, even as it was steadily fading. “What sort of useless creature  is it?”

 

“It looks more like a Hozen, to me.” Another tug at his leg pulled a weary whine from deep within Anduin's chest.

 

“Let me-” Anduin's own words were interrupted as he began to cough hard enough to bring heaves up. They lifted his shoulders and squeezed his ribcage, all until he could calm himself down. He was somewhat relieved - and a bit horrified - that the monsters waited for him to speak. “Let me down. Please, I have- I have no quarrel with you.”

 

“If you have no  quarrel, ” one snarled. “Why did you try to take our sibling's  eye .” More vines wrapped around Anduin's head and jerked it painfully in one direction, although all he saw in front of him was a watery and unfocused smear of luminescent blue. He didn't need to see more to know what he was focused upon.

 

“A misunderstanding!” A chorus of laughter erupted from around him. The dull, hissing noise wormed underneath Anduin's skin and chilled his bones. “We care not  why it happened, pink little Hozen. We care only that you hurt our sibling.”

 

Anduin tried to wriggle out of the grip that held him, but it was no use. Not only were their grips strong, but he was weakened by their attack. It seemed that whatever venom they exuded sapped him of his strength, whether by design, or because he was in so much pain.

 

“So you aim to kill me, then?” he rasped, feeling defiance well up in his chest. There was no way he would allow himself to die, there. He didn't know how, but he would escape them, no matter  what they had planned.

 

“We aim,” came the dark whisper in front directly in front of him, accompanied by a warm, wet rush of air that stung his face. “And we do not miss.”

 

Anduin was awarded only a few seconds to truly process that information before a whirl of motion drove all thoughts from his head. The figures around him blurred even further than they already were, and he was jerked down into the thick mists that roiled off of their bodies and between them, creating a noxious cloud that clung to his clothes and burned his very skin.

 

He wasn't given very long to think about the sting of the poisonous mists, as he was slammed right through them and into the muck below. The horrible plant-creature emitted a shrieking, rattly laugh, and his notched, vine-like hands scraped Anduin through his clothes as they slithered out from beneath him, leaving him quite firmly stuck in the mud.

 

And he knew he was stuck. For a moment, he was so stunned, all he could think was that it was reminiscent of when he slid down the cliff, only about ten times worse. He wriggled and squirmed, but the mud's hold on him was just as bad as the mist creepers, and he had no leverage with which to pull himself out. Anduin would not let himself be kept down by this. He heard a snarl rumble up from his own throat before he recognized that he'd made the noise, and he arched his back, hoping to pull himself out of harm's way.

 

He was far too slow. The first arm came crashing down onto his chest, tearing his breath – and a scream – from his lungs. He inhaled sharply and then cried out again as the poisoned mist shoved its way deep into his throat. It felt as though bile was rising from his stomach and then being forced back down into his lungs. For a moment, in fact, he feared that he was drowning, being choked by the mist that burned him so fiercely.

 

Just when he thought he might lose consciousness, the mists above him parted and allowed him a moment of  blissful clarity. The clear air felt like a balm on his eyes and in his throat and nose. It chased away the tears and mucus that ran down his face.

 

The reprieve granted him enough of a boost that he curled one hand into a fist and jerked his arm out of the mud. He used the momentum to roll onto his side and curl up. More of those blows came down onto his side, hip, and legs, like heavy branches falling during a storm, but instead of feeling like a farmer's hut buffeted by the strikes, Anduin found his resolve hardening. He was Stormwind's Keep, walls of rock built to withstand a hurricane after being subjected to countless storms.

 

He threw his hand out above him, to stretch out into the hail of strikes, and the Light was aglow around him before he opened his mouth.

 

“ BARRIER!” He didn't yell, but the sheer volume of the word cracked across the clearing like a lion's roar. The Light that had already coalesced around him exploded outward from his body, rising in a dome that shoved the creatures back and away from the bruised and battered Prince. He rose to his feet, unsteady, but unshakable, especially under his nigh impenetrable shield.

 

“Stay back!” His snarl was nowhere near as loud, but every bit as authoritative, as the Power Word had been. The creatures had been scattered by the blow from the shield, and they were steadily regrouping, rising to their feet in their slow, shambling movements. Anduin took that moment – likely the only one he would get – to grab his satchel and run.

 

He left the spear he'd been using, left the embers of the campfire, whereas he normally disposed of everything he could, but he couldn't bother to stop and cover his tracks. Anduin Wrynn simply ran for his life His lungs and eyes already burning from the strain of the poison, he knew he wasn't likely to get very far, but he  had to. He had to run until his legs wouldn't carry him.

 

Thankfully, he couldn't hear them following behind as he rushed away. He knew the blow from his Barrier couldn't have been enough to truly incapacitate them, and he hoped dearly that meant they'd decided he wasn't worth the trouble of continuing on after him. Still, they had caught up to him, once, and he didn't want them to do it, again. No matter what the creatures had decided, Anduin wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between himself and the creatures as possible.

 

\---

 

The days passed, and everyone seemed very impressed with how Varian was feeling. Rather than going through the motions, doing his job and barely thinking about it, Varian was bright and cheerful, honestly happy. He helped just about everyone he came across, and he tore through his paperwork and more menial tasks with ease and a smile on his scarred face.

 

Genn was happy. Mia was happy. Varian's servants and advisers were happy. Things were going smoothly all around.

 

Naturally, there were stressors. The war, for one, was a constant, looming presence over all of their heads, but everyone – literally everyone – seemed to used to it that there barely needed to be any mention of it. Those who were feeling the squeeze, mainly, were those directly involved in the issue. At that particular moment, those two were Varian Wrynn, himself, and Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth. Both were leaned on the war table – fully restored from its revolutionary trip – discussing the positioning of their ships.

 

“We  need those ships around Stormwind, Your Majesty,” Jes-Tereth asserted firmly. “We can't risk leaving ourselves open to attack. The crew there is bare-bones as it is.”

 

“We  need to send more people to this new land, if the reports we're receiving are correct.” Varian grit his teeth. He wasn't angry, but the debates were always tense, and he had to stand by what he believed, or he'd be walked all over. Perhaps it wasn't fair to Jes-Tereth, she was just doing her job... but at least he wasn't flipping the map table, again. “The Horde is sending its people, probably planning on taking the land over, and we  can't let that happen! ”

 

“I agree, your Majesty.” Jes-Tereth's voice was quiet, but no less firm than Varian's own, and her eyes pierced right through Varian's. Both had their shoulders squared and raised, worried that a fight really would break out. “But we need to protect our own, first. We don't need Stormwind to become another Theramore.”

 

Tess watched on from the doorway as the muscles in Varian's jaw flexed. He looked as though he was considering that, not wanting to concede to Jes-Tereth's point, but rapidly doing so, anyway. Some of the nearby servants – one or two of who Tess knew to be among Theramore's survivors – were surprised at the words that seemed like a low blow, and were most certainly a bit insensitive, but Tess could see how they worked on the stubborn King.

 

“It-”

 

“Sire!”

 

A courier rushed past Tess, nearly bowling her over. He turned, however, and bowed deeply in apology. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and a gentle smile. He seemed harried by whatever news he had brought. Why punish him for being nervous about bringing news to Varian – a man who was known to cause impressive property damage when given bad news?

 

“Yes, Jeoffry?” Varian breathed as he brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. A vein was already throbbing in his forehead, although one Tess recognized as one that didn't come from his impending temper. “What is it?”

 

“They... They found...”

 

“Take a breath, Jeoffry. Someone bring him some water.”

 

Wyll turned up at Jeoffry's side almost instantly, a glass of water in his hand. He offered it out to the courier, who took it gratefully and began to drink in slow, measured sips. Everyone around the room waited, all eyes affixed on the young human. Tess glanced around.

 

She could have sworn that she'd  seen the moment the idea appeared in the room's air. It started on Jes-Tereth's face, characterized by her lips tightening almost imperceptibly. Then, behind her, a servant who couldn't even see her face got a similar idea. Her eyes widened, and she brought a hand to her mouth. Steadily, the rising tension spread around the room, though no one spoke a word or motioned to anyone else. They all simply kept staring at Jeoffry, watching the level of the water in his glass slowly descend as he caught his breath.

 

It didn't settle upon Varian's face last, but it was certainly the most profound change. His eyes widened, and his lips thinned to nothing more than a line on his face. His already ruddy complexion reddened further, blood spreading beneath his skin until it covered his face out to the tips of his ears. His eyes widened slowly, until the sclera were visible around his irises, the bright white contrasted with his dark hair and skin, shining like a beacon of his fraying nerves.

 

Jeoffry was a young Gilnean lad who had always wanted to join the army. He was too small to join up with Gilneas', and so he tried again when they arrived in Darnassus. Alas, he wasn't physically fit to join their ordered ranks. He attempted to join Darnassus' Sentinels, but was turned away. Yet again, he tried in Stormwind, and failed to live up to the combat tests. However, it was then that they learned of his speed and agility, his ability to scramble over and around any and all obstacles in his path with such speed, it was as if he was running along a clear, evenly paved road. As a result, he was hired as a courier for Stormwind's armed forces.

 

Given the main issue taking up Stormwind's collective unconscious, the fact that Jeoffry looked nervous to tell his tale, it seemed natural, the conclusion everyone drew. Tess regarded it all quietly, almost passively, knowing not to jump to conclusions, and rather wanting to wait and see what Jeoffry had to say.

 

It was Jes-Tereth, and not Varian, who gave in first. Judging by the increasing redness on Varian's face, the anticipation was enough to momentarily paralyze him.

 

“ Out with it, Jeoffry! ” she snarled, slamming her fist down on the raised edge of the map table. “We haven't got all day! There's a  war on, by the Light, and I'll not stand here and  wait twenty minutes for our military's fastest courier to  catch his damned breath! ”

 

Jeoffry stuttered and handed the glass back to Wyll, who took it quietly and backed away. The aging servant’s own face was just as impassive as Tess', although she knew – from talking to him – that he wasn't nearly as emotionless as he appeared. He'd been at this job for long enough to know a few tricks of the trade. Those he took care of would panic less if he showed no worry of his own.

 

“Sorry, Grand Admiral!” he squeaked, sheepish. His voice came in reedy breaths. Whatever the news, he'd ran double-time to get it to them. “Ran all the way from the docks, I did. We've- Well, they've.” He cleared his throat. Normally, he would be fishing a scroll tube from his satchel to unfurl and read, but not that day, it seemed. “They've found the bloke what let the secret slip, they did! The one who went and told about the Prince!”

 

It was as if the whole room released a held breath all at once, or like a picture came to life. Suddenly, all of the servants in the room moved, glancing between one-another. Some even whispered, breathing their relief into one-another's ears. The only ones that didn't move were Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth, Princess Tess Greymane, Wyll, and King Wrynn himself.

 

Varian was the stillest of all of them, and yet the most animated. While he did not move, Tess likened him to the sight of a thunderstorm from the distance. While motion was nigh impossible to glean from where she stood, she could almost see the roiling waves and driving rain, the shocks of electricity and debris carried by the wind. She was halfway to moving forward, holding her hands out to the King and hoping to soothe him, when he spoke.

 

It was not a hurricane of motion, as those in the room expected. He did not lash out at Jeoffry, screaming a demand at the man until he ran from the room, tail between his legs. Instead, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and his mouth barely moved to let the words issue forth.

 

“Have him brought to me.” Despite their lack of volume, the words were solid and unwavering. “Have him brought directly to me, no matter where he is.”

 

“He's already on his way, sire.” Jeoffry stood up straight and delivered to Varian the Stormwind salute. “I was sent ahead so that you could prepare for his arrival.”

 

“Good man, Jeoffry,” Varian rumbled, turning away from the courier. “Let them know I'll be here, and see to it you're rewarded for your service, on my order.”

 

“Thank you, your Majesty!” the young man squeaked. He was so excited, he nearly ran out of the room without giving everyone the proper bows. Tess very nearly waved him away to let him enjoy his run back without having to worry, but she would rather he not remember his lack of formal bowing mid-jump between rooftops, only to miss his target.

 

Honestly, Royal procedure was so tiring, sometimes.

 

Many of the servants finished tidying the area and then dispersed as quickly as they could, to other rooms that needed cleaning. Wyll remained, Tess noticed. He'd kept very closely to Varian's side lately, only a moment or so away at any given moment. Of course, he had taken care of the Wrynn family since Llane was a child, so Tess wasn't overly surprised at Wyll's loyalty.

 

By the time a small contingent of guards had appeared, one man between them, with his hands bound, Tess had crossed to the other side of the room to have a seat, out of the way of the entrance, yet still perched in a good location to observe.

 

Varian and Jes-Tereth had carried on with their conversation, Varian quietly conceding to Jes-Tereth's plans. The Grand Admiral didn't have any other  present matters to discuss, and her and Varian's chatter about possible future plans was more casual than an actual war meeting should have been. Tess suspected the Grand Admiral wanted to remain to see this confrontation through.

 

“Ensign Kendal Forest,” began the soldier in front. His voice, while quiet, seemed to consume the silence of the room like a fire burning through kindling. Tess’ eyes found the accused, whose head was bowed. He stared directly at his feet, as if trying to burn a hole through his boots. “Is the source who leaked information to the people of Stormwind, alerting them to the disappearance of their Crown Prince, as well as  The Vanguard  and all her crew, causing a panic through Stormwind’s fair citizens. We await your order, Your Majesty, on what to do with this criminal.”

 

It was as if the whole castle had turned its attention onto its King. Varian stood in silence, his face obscured to Tess, but outwardly neutral. If anything, he looked as though he hadn’t even been paying attention. He proved that notion incorrect within the next few seconds.

 

“You… you are the reason…” Varian clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking loudly in the silence. When he spoke again, Varian’s voice was calm, but his fist shook. “How did this happen, Ensign? Why did this happen? You can’t possibly have-” He caught himself, cleared his throat, and Tess rose from her seat to circle around the map room, wanting a view of Varian’s face.

 

The young man lifted his gaze, but didn’t look above Varian’s chest. He seemed to tremble at the very notion of doing so. “S- sire?”

 

“How could you have… let  anyone know about this? You know procedure, and if you didn’t at the time, it should have been  explained to you. What could have possibly possessed you to let something like this…  slip!? ” The tension in his voice was almost tangible, and before Ensign Forest could speak, Varian continued. “This is an  emergency situation, and you couldn’t keep from telling- who? Who did you tell?”

 

The resulting quiet was almost painful. The unexpected roar of Varian’s voice died down, leading everyone to realize just how loud he’d become in only a span of a few moments. Ensign Forest was trembling.

 

“My- My husband,” he squeaked. “I’m so sorry, your Majesty! I didn’t- I didn’t think-!”

 

“You  didn’t think! ” Varian snarled, his teeth bared. If Tess didn’t know better, she’d have said Varian’s voice made the walls shake. “You  didn’t! One mistake, Forest, and it led to- almost to  riots ! RIOTS in the streets, Ensign, all because you couldn’t keep your mouth  shut  for one blasted second!”

 

Varian groped behind him and grabbed the first thing he laid his hand on that  wasn’t the map table, itself. He lifted a model ship: a marker used for plotting the position of troops, it was about the size of Varian’s forearm. He hurled it forward without a second thought.

 

With a sickening  crunch , the ship… fell from the air. Pieces of wood scattered to the ground, splintered and sizzling with leftover magic energy that left the charred pieces in smoky, yellowish wisps.

 

For the first time that day, all eyes turned to Tess Greymane. One hand was raised in front of her body, held out toward the space between Varian and the small group of guards. The other hand was balled into a fist at her side, held at chest level and close to her body. She was standing with her feet planted, poised for the casting of a spell.

 

“ I think that’s enough,” she spoke, her own voice making itself as much of a presence as Varian’s had - if not more. “Dear soldiers, if you would take our prisoners to a holding cell -  not to the Stockades - to be held while we can further discuss this issue. Everyone else, please leave me to speak with the King.”

 

\---

 

They watched as everyone filed from the Map Room with little hesitation. Even Wyll hurried out, although Tess and Varian both saw the man position himself nearby to the doorway, should he be summoned. With a quick motion of her hand, Tess had the doors closed, to ensure privacy. Only once that was done did she turn to face Stormwind's King. However, she did not speak.

 

“Wyll really deserves a vacation, doesn't he?” Varian's voice was no longer a lion's roar. If anything, it wasn't even a kitten's mew. Tess continued to stare him down as if he was every bit the beast from Stormwind's banners.

 

“What do you want from me, Tess?” He sounded exasperated, as if Tess had broken through a barrier at long last. Of course, she knew it to be false. Tess had learned, by that point, that Varian was just as stubborn as her father, and his tactics were a little more clever than “close everything up behind a wall”. “I'm not in the mood for the precision silent treatment strike, today.”

 

She remained silent, which caused one of the veins in King Wrynn's forehead to visibly throb.

 

“ Tess! ” he snapped, his voice going rough. Varian's fists were clenched, his teeth grit, and his shoulders began to shake. Like Genn tended to, he had hidden his feelings beneath the surface, taking all of his turmoil and shoving it back behind his eyes to deal with on his own. Varian, however, was not Genn, and rather than actually  trying to accept help from those around him, he was trying to fake them all out.

 

Tess wasn't exactly planning on standing for that.

 

“Tess, Light  blind me, if you don’t start talking, I’m going to leave.” Varian crossed his arms and glared down at the woman. His shoulders slumped somewhat, and his scowl barely even remained on his face. If anything, he looked as though he was staring down at Tess contemplatively. She was going to cut him some slack… but decided against it.

 

“You threw a  ship at a man,” she stated simply, and watched as Varian’s shoulders squared again, but slumped just slightly forward. He scuffed the heel of his boot against the stone floor, to which he lowered his gaze.

 

“A  model ship.” He glanced back up at Tess, who only quirked an eyebrow at him. He dropped his head, again, and went from crossing his arms to hugging himself. “It didn’t hit him. You saw to that.” Idly, he inspected the splintered pieces of wood, many of which were sprouting a thin layer of green; a few small buds even dotted the larger chunks.

 

“You reacted with  violence toward a man who made a  mistake .” Her voice left no room for argument, and Varian found his attention focusing on the ground. If he had a tail, it would be wedged firmly between his legs. “You heard him, Varian. And I implore you to  think for a moment. He could not have been the  only one to tell his loved ones about what happened at the harbor, that day. Protocol is one thing, and it is very important, but you  know people. You’ve lead them for how long?”

 

Varian brought his gaze up from the floor, only to stare pointedly at the wall. He set his jaw, clenched his teeth once or twice. Finally, he simply turned away from Tess and walked around the map table, until it was between the two of them. Idly, he began to straighten the pieces up, as he’d knocked some over when he swept his arm across it to grab the nearest ship.

 

“King Wrynn, you know all of this. I should not have to tell it to you.” She stepped over the destroyed ship and looked across the map of Azeroth. “So why is it that I’m speaking these words?”

 

“Perhaps you like hearing yourself talk?”

 

A long silence stretched between the two. Varian fidgeted with one of the Alliance markers, holding it between thumb and forefinger and turning it slowly. He stared down at it, as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. Tess’ eyes never left Varian’s face. It was her turn to cross her arms, though she had no trouble squaring her shoulders and cocking one hip.

 

“ Fine, ” Varian snapped. “Because you’re trying to interfere where you shouldn’t be.”

 

“I’m  helping you!” She huffed in irritation, but was quick to compose herself. “Varian… you aren’t going to get any better by telling us you’re alright and then treating your people with violence. Why did you do this? Why are you so angry?”

 

“My  son is dead, Tess!” Varian lifted a hand, but stilled it in the air, rather than bringing it down toward the table where he  would have swept everything off of the table. His arm dropped heavily to his side.

 

“You don’t know that, Varian.”

 

“What else could he  be!? Lost in an unknown world that we’ve- our people are only  just  arriving, Tess! We have no idea what’s there! We’ve received  nothing in the way of communication from Admiral Taylor or any of the  other ships that wrecked there. They could all be dead, and- I-... if Admiral Taylor and trained soldiers can’t survive that wilderness, do you think my son can? On his own?”

 

“Varian…” It was then that Tess realized what was going on. She could  kick her father for this. “Varian, we won’t know he’s dead until the report comes in, and- this is  Anduin we’re talking about. Think of what he’s survived in the past. If the stories are true - and I know  you know whether they are or not - he’s been through some amazing things.”

 

“He…  did survive being alone in Onyxia’s lair for… days while we arranged his extraction.” Varian finally looked up again, facing Tess. She could see the look in his eyes, tentative hope, desperation. “You really think he’s surviving this alright?”

 

“King Wrynn…” Finally, a smile broke on Tess’ face. It was just as warm and nurturing as Varian had come to suspect of any who had mastery over nature itself. “I’m sure he’s just fine.”

 

\---

 

Pain.  Pain. Lots of pain. It seared through his chest, over his back and legs, made only worse by how he ran. He hadn’t stopped moving since his unexpected awakening, that morning. He slowed to walk, stopped shortly to find and eat food, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and those creatures as he possibly could.

 

He put every evasive tactic he could think of to use. He swerved erratically, even doubled back on his own trail once or twice, in a few areas. If he’d run across any bodies of water, he’d have cut across them. Unfortunately, all he’d ever found was a small trickling stream, not enough to throw anything off of his trail.

 

By mid-day, he found himself too tired to continue. He needed, deeply and desperately, to stop and rest, to eat  something , even if he barely had the energy to catch it, himself. He would manage; he always did.

 

“It helps...” he found himself remarking aloud, a slight wheeze in his voice, as he broke into a small clearing. “That I seem to be unnaturally lucky. In a sense.” The clearing was a natural formation, however what filled it was not. Tents littered the area, all in varying states of disarray. Tent poles were uprooted, canvases were torn, but it was unquestioningly the remains of a campsite, likely for a large group of people.

 

Judging by the patterns on the tents, and the few small statues that littered the area, the campsite was made by more of the strange fish people that had chased him so fervently, a few days prior. He remembered seeing the same patterns on cloths owned by that group. Of course, judging by just how badly torn apart the site was, those very fish were nowhere near.

 

“Unless they're on their way back to scout for supplies.” He winced and brought a hand down to his ribcage. Running for so long and then stopping abruptly might not have been his smartest idea. “Either way, this provides  some manner of shelter, I suppose.”

 

His boots squelched in the mud as he dragged himself through the campsite. There didn't seem to be anything in the way of a sleeping bag left over, although Anduin honestly had to wonder what he expected. Did fish-people even use sleeping bags, or did they sleep in puddles? Then again, why would they have tents...? Did they just sleep in the mud?

 

Actually, that might have been the case, as the earth wasn't quite so  wet since Anduin had found his way out of the marsh. The more he thought about it, the more he could have sworn remembering the fish peoples'... feet? fins? squishing in the mud as they came toward him.

 

Anduin shook his head and, to rid himself of the unhelpful trains of thought, turned around to survey the campsite. The tents were all arranged in a circle, keeping somewhat tight to one another, allowing very few gaps between. He wondered if it was by choice, or if they simply had so many with them, they couldn't fit in the clearing any other way. Judging by what he had seen, before, that seemed likely. Interestingly enough, instead of being positioned around a campfire, the tents all faced a hole in the ground. It was wider than the usual campfire, and notably deep.

 

“Clearly important,” he murmured to himself, and as he approached, he could see the hole was filled with water. Somehow - he suspected little stone carvings placed around the rim of the small pool - the water hadn't been absorbed into the earth over time. Even better...

 

“Fish!” Anduin dropped to his knees next to the pool and watched as they swam about. They weren't given enough room to live particularly comfortably, and they were given a seat of importance, rather than actual reverence. Clearly, they were meant as a food source, and seeing as how there were no bodies of water nearby that Anduin knew of, it made sense that a traveling group would transport their own, especially given they seemed to have the means to do so, successfully. He would be able to eat  so well, that night, it was almost unbelievable. “I really  am lucky.”

 

It wasn't much longer later that Anduin found himself half-curled in a makeshift hammock, strung together from leftover fabric and rope. He'd even managed to set it up beneath yet more leftover fabric, so he had a... not exactly a  tent but something enough like one that he was guarded from view and the elements, for the most part.

 

And he was  eating. Light, yes, he was eating. By that point, he was fairly good at setting up a campfire, and he managed to boil himself some water and cook himself a fish, and he was relaxing contently, belly full and limbs heavy, in his bed for the night. He was stretched out, laying on his side, with his cloak draped over his body and yet more leftover fabric balled up beneath his head.

 

It was the most comfortable he'd been in days. In some ways, he felt more comfortable than he ever had at The Exodar, although he was sure that had to do with his prior days of considerable discomfort. Even with the soreness in his body, he was happy, content. Perhaps it was a good meal two nights in a row, but he was in a terribly good mood.

 

Naturally, that was when the tears came.

 

It had started with the warm and comfortable feel of being well-fed and laying on a comfortable bed. With his eyes closed, the feeling sort of morphed to how it felt to be home. It was a slippery slope, and thus not long before he caught himself dozing and wondering what would be for breakfast in the morning. It was when he opened his eyes and came face-to-face with his own hammock that he remembered.

 

The feeling of realization lanced straight through his heart, and drew a sob from deep within him. He brought his hands to his face and sobbed bitterly into them. The feeling was terrible, the  worst, and unfortunately, it only fed itself.

 

Would he ever see Stormwind again? Would he survive long enough for help to arrive? Would he ever see his father again? Would he find his way to help? Would help find him? Was he stuck on that strange land until his final days?

 

Anduin ran his hands over his face, and then through his hair. He was a mess. An absolute mess. But he was a mess that would make it to the end, Light guide him. The tears did nothing to dampen his spirit. If anything, he felt his resolve strengthen with every sob that shook his chest. Unfortunately, it also jarred his wounds. It was that pain that finally calmed his tears, and nothing else.

 

He felt strong, in a strange way, even as he curled up on his side, in his tattered hammock, underneath a shredded tent. Even as he drifted off to sleep, swaddled in a worn, dirty cloak, clad in clothing that was all but ruined, he felt as though he slept wrapped in strong, protective arms. Arms that would drive away his worst fears.

 

Before he fell asleep, he reached out toward the Light, and that feeling increased tenfold.

 

\---

 

The feeling never left him. He woke with it coursing through his veins. It strengthened his bones, chased away his bruises. They didn't literally fade, but the pain seemed so much less, compared to what it once was. In fact, none of the wounds really bothered him quite so much. It was as if, somehow, a weight had been lifted from his chest.

 

That day's walk felt like nothing, utterly negligible, as if it would become another day that passed by with nothing exciting going on. He would walk, he would stop, he would eat, and he would move on. Something about that idea was empowering. Even if something  was to happen, he knew he would be able to deal with it, no matter what it was.

 

He never found a path, but he  did find something.

 

Really,  it found  him.

 

A sound, a horrible, familiar sound. It was a low drone from the distance, like a town marketplace... during a festival. Yelling, hollering... screams. It didn't take long for Anduin to recognize the sound. He'd heard it  days \- weeks? - ago, when he'd first left the wreck of  The Vanguard.

 

Anduin barely had time to dive into the nearest cluster of bushes before the group grew close enough to see him. Monkeys, howling hideously, rushed past him. He barely dared to peek out, and once he caught a glimpse of the group, he wished immediately that he hadn't. Over their heads, they carried bodies... and parts of bodies. Blue and orange scales glittered in the patchy sunlight, smeared with blood. The fish people.

 

Suddenly, Anduin understood why they had been so wary of newcomers.

 

The young Prince heaved a quiet sigh and sat heavily on the mud, no longer even recognizing the feel of mud seep through his clothes, anymore. Whatever this new world was, it was just as war-torn as the part of Azeroth he was familiar with. It was just as he feared, after he'd been chased away by the fish people's camp.

 

Well... he couldn't let that keep him down, either. Anduin checked to make sure there were no more of those monkey-people around before he rose to his feet. He was quick to begin creeping behind the mob, following the very obvious trail they'd left behind. So many feet, so much mud, the latter all churned up from the former.

 

To tell the truth? Anduin was terrified. The very idea of following these people chilled him to the very bone. It sent shivers through his body. This group of monkey-people could well be the  very same group that ransacked  The Vanguard. At the same time, however, that was good news, in a way. By following them, he was getting closer to a conclusion, closer to at least one question answered.

 

But it was also a sense of  direction. A change of pace. He was following a trail, instead of wandering aimlessly around an unfamiliar forest for what had felt like an entire year. With each step, he grew closer to finding his friends, finding  someone , finding a direction to  travel in this Light-blinded world.

 

No matter what feeling was running through his body, Anduin scurried along the forest floor as quickly as his feet could take him. He kept low to the ground, under his cloak, to minimize the chances of being spotted. His eyes rarely left the pack in front of him, keeping on their trail, making sure none of them would turn around and spy him.

 

Perhaps they were so wrapped up in their victory that they didn't bother to look behind themselves. Perhaps they never made a habit of it. Either way, Anduin's worst issue sneaking behind them was the slippery terrain, and he even navigated that without any mishaps.

 

They disappeared beyond the crest of a hill, and their noise seemed to die down. That spurred Anduin on to pick up the pace. He bolted, stumbling, up the muddy slope. Some part of his mind liked to think he looked like a shadow slithering along the ground, but he knew that it was more likely that he looked like... a lanky teenager stumbling up the side of a hill.

 

They disappeared beyond the crest of a hill, and their noise seemed to die down. That spurred Anduin on to pick up the pace. He bolted, stumbling, up the muddy slope. Some part of his mind liked to think he looked like a shadow slithering along the ground, but he knew that it was more likely that he looked like... a lanky teenager stumbling up the side of a hill.

 

He pressed himself down to the soft earth when he reached the top, clenched some mud in his hands. He could feel his pulse racing in his palms and roaring in his ears.

 

It all stopped cold when he saw... nothing. More accurately, he saw no Humans. No Worgen. No...  living fish-people. All he saw were more ruins: buildings that had been broken into, gutted. They were even missing entire walls. Whole halves of some buildings were gone. They were all made of stone, decorated in damaged sculptures of fish, whose eyes and mouths glowed a faint, flickering blue, as if the magic that kept the lights going was slowly draining.

 

The monkeys were... everywhere. No longer were they packed tightly together, in a group. They had spread out, all over. Small clusters were digging through damaged buildings, going through nets that had been carefully hung up, filled with fish. Some of the monkeys were even eating, tearing into the fish rapidly, as if they hadn't had a meal in days.

 

Others picked over the fallen bodies of the fish-people. Thankfully, none of the monkeys seemed to consider eating  those, although they didn't leave any part of them unturned as they looked for... whatever it was they were looking for. Whether it was a specific item they all sought or if they were taking everything that wasn't bolted down, Anduin wasn't sure. Honestly, he wasn't aware if that actually mattered.

 

He lay there, in the cold mud, close enough to be seen if he didn't keep absolutely still. The chill seeped into his chest and stomach. It bit at his skin. He didn't know what to do. Something in him did not want to leave,  couldn't leave. There was no way he would be able to just walk away from the aftermath of a battle, but what was it that he could do? There were no wounded to heal. At least, there didn't seem to be.

 

Anduin took in a long, slow breath and rested his chin on a patch of grass. The smell of wet earth filled his nostrils and, for a moment, soothed him. It allowed him to clear his head and really  think. Did he stay there, or did he just walk away? What on Azeroth was the right idea?

 

A bright flickering caught Anduin's attention. He focused his gaze and spotted, at one of the monkey's hips, a sword. It was bright, polished, well-maintained. That, of itself, was not surprising. What  was notable was the hilt of the sword. Wrapped in blue and gold, and with a familiar lion's head as a pommel.

 

Admiral Taylor. Anduin sat up sharply. That was an Alliance Sword. Whether it was Taylor's was up for debate, but it was unquestionably of Alliance make. Stormwind, at that. He  had found the group that had looted  The Vanguard. He just needed to dig deeper, find some clue as to where any prisoners were being kept.

 

If there are any. Anduin was starting to get  very tired of that voice that liked to chime in with just about every negative aspect of a situation. Sure, the added perspective was nice, but sometimes, it didn't sound like his own thoughts. It sounded... higher in pitch, snotty, but with this tone beneath it. Grating, yet pleasant. Katrana.

 

Anduin shook his head to rid himself of that train of thought. There was no sense in dwelling on  her when he didn't have to.

 

A quick sweep of the camp showed two main paths of tracks leading in. One of which, he was laying on. The other stretched out toward the left side of the ruins, from where he was sitting. That was probably where they were bringing their spoils. He just had to... sneak around that way. That wasn't so hard. Valeera had taught him just about everything he knew about stealth. Sure, he'd taken to her knife-throwing lessons better, but he didn't exactly  fail at sneaking.

 

The Prince watched the looting for only a moment longer before he rose to his feet. They all seemed very preoccupied with what they were doing, so it wouldn't be hard at all to sneak past. Surely.

 

Surely.

 

It was with a deep breath that Anduin finally started moving, darting first behind a clump of bushes and trees. They provided substantial cover, and the ground was thankfully soft enough that it made very little noise. For once in that jungle, his boots served a good purpose, so soft were they. Even if they were supposed to be  decorative more than practical, they served a purpose. That was all that counted.

 

Anduin rounded the cluster of foliage, but had to press himself against the thick trunk of a tree to stay hidden. Three of the monkey-people were gathered not  five feet from where he stood, all gathered around a helmet. They passed it back and forth, looking it over, inspecting it for...  something, Light only knew what.

 

Anduin didn't have time to find out when the one in the middle looked up, and they met eyes. For a disorienting moment, all Anduin could notice was how  blue the other's eyes were. And then, the creature drew his lips back, revealing bright,  large teeth, and they screamed. The two at their side looked up, narrowed their eyes at Anduin, and screamed as well.

 

The Prince turned on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction.  Again, he was running. However, the third time was not, in fact, the charm, as he didn't make it more than two steps before one of them snagged his cloak and jerked it back. He fell to the muddy ground with a loud squish. He couldn't breathe, and he was being dragged by that very cloak through the mud.

 

He kicked. He struggled. He dug his fingers between his throat and the cloak, to try and pull back and offer himself a breath. All he could manage was a slight gasp, enough to keep him conscious until he stopped moving, very abruptly. His cloak was dropped, and a pressure settled low on his stomach.

 

When Anduin's eyes finally focused, he could see one of the creatures standing above him, foot pressed firmly down on Anduin's belly. They hefted an ax above their head and brought it down.

 

Bright light shot from Anduin's fingertips, from a hand he hadn't even realized he'd raised. It spiraled outward, a gold and green nebula, and struck the creature directly in the chest. They fell back, and the ax imbedded itself in the earth, mere  inches from Anduin's head, with a soft  shuck sound.

 

He took that opening and ran with it. Literally. The young Prince rolled onto his stomach and scrambled to his feet. They caught his cloak again, but rather than deal with  that  liability, Anduin stopped in his tracks, planted his feet, and released the cloak's clasp.

 

They could  have the damned thing.

 

He didn't look back to see what they  did with the cloak, but he knew at least some of them were following him. He could hear them crashing along the underbrush, shrieking behind him to alarm the others. Whatever they were saying, it didn't translate. He didn't feel the magic of his ring tingling beneath his glove. It helped that he wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying, if it  was anything, which usually stopped the ring from activating. He really didn't care about that, to be honest. He only cared that they were  right behind him,  no matter how fast he ran.

 

Anduin hadn't at all paid attention to what direction he'd sprinted. It was much to his surprise when muddy ground gave way to a hard, stone surface.  A road.

 

Anduin would have cried if it weren't for the adrenaline pumping through him. A stone road made for  much easier running than mud did. Unfortunately, that advantage worked for the creatures behind him just as well as it worked for himself. Still, he ran.

 

Up a slope, Anduin had just enough time to identify stone fences, dotted with lanterns, outlining two paths that split apart from one-another. One path sloped up, so he chose the other. It remained flat. Easier terrain. Less of a chance to trip.

 

There were fewer trees in this area, and that small virtue allowed him a clear view of an overcast sky. It would rain, soon. That wasn't surprising. It rained a lot in this part of the world. Hopefully, it would hold off just a bit longer. He needed to  go .

 

This is ridiculous, he found himself thinking.  Your Father is the Lion of Stormwind. King Varian Wrynn is one of the world's most feared warriors, and you're running from a pack of monkeys. Are you not a Wrynn? Are you not a Prince!?  That voice didn't sound like Katrana.

 

Anduin found his voice rising from his throat before he even thought of what he was going to say.

 

“I. Am Anduin Wrynn!” He skidded to a stop and turned, putting his back toward one of those stone fences. He felt the warmth radiating from the lanterns that flanked him. “ Prince of Stormwind!” Holy Light gathered in his hands before he even had a chance to think about it.

 

There were three of them on his tail, with more arriving, yet trailing behind. Anduin flung one hand forward, and up above, the heavens themselves seemed to part to send a shock of Holy Fire down. It struck one of the creatures on the top of its head, and bright, golden flames engulfed their form. It fell to the ground in seconds, unmoving.

 

“I  won't die here!” His fists clenched. Were he not wearing gloves, his nails would have dug into his palms enough to draw blood. His shoulders were squared, and he stood as straight as he could, rising to his full height. Despite his still-short stature, his very presence seemed to loom over the forest itself.

 

The other creatures seemed to hesitate, glancing between Anduin and their fallen companion. They were not put off for long before they hefted their spears and advanced.

 

The Light pulled away from his hands, and he felt the energy cool and surge into his chest. Fury radiated through his body. Dark  anger curled behind his eyes and met the fear where it nested. They combined, and together, Anduin felt the cool, slick feeling of Shadow Magic sliding down to settle in his chest.

 

“ Not like this!” The scream flew from his mouth and his very mind. He could feel the wispy, invisible tendrils of Shadow energy reach out and wrap around the remaining creature's minds. They dropped their weapons and shrieked. One cowered in his place. The other turned away and ran, screeching in alarm to their companions, who continued advancing.

 

He'd bought himself enough time. Anduin turned and sprinted off once more. This time, when he spotted a slope, he decided to ascend it, not in small part due to the fact that he could see smoke rising from the top. A campfire. A risk worth taking.

 

He rushed up the slope, the packed dirt offering him no issues, even as the distance between he and his attackers closed rapidly. He readied himself for more of them, for more of the fish-people, or even something altogether unseen before. Still, nothing quite prepared him for the sight he saw.

 

Pandaren. Two of them, one with red fur, one with black, knelt in front of a campfire. Pandaren. They had settled down to eat a meal, when they had apparently heard Anduin's yelling, as they were both staring at the Prince when he arrived. Pandaren. Straight out of his storybooks. Pandaren. Like Chen Stormstout of legend.  Pandaren.

 

He had hardly enough time to register the sight before him before he had to whirl around and face the issue at hand. More of those creatures - at least five of them - were rushing up the slope, readying spears and axes as they hurried. They kicked up the dirt and screamed in heated fury. He had made a mistake. He'd killed one of them.

 

Several things happened at once.

 

He heard a yell from behind him, and the word came accompanied with the familiar tingle of his ring springing to life, although Anduin still did not recognize the word spoken. “ Hozen!” It was shouted like a warning. He made a mental note to ask later.

 

“ Shield! ” he cried, and he felt the Light harden in the air around him, felt it anchor securely to his very soul.

 

A figure came flying past his vision. One of the Pandaren - the larger one - had launched themself at one of the creatures and delivered a kick squarely to the creature's jaw. The blow sent the monkey flying back and tumbling down the slope.

 

The other Pandaren, the smaller, red one, rushed forward to take up a spot next to Anduin. They raised their hands, ready and eager to fight. It was clear that they were fighting on  his side. To cement that very idea, they turned their head in his direction, smiled, and nodded once. He wasn’t sure what look was on his face when he nodded in return, but the Red Pandaren seemed satisfied with it, and they turned away from him to rush forward and deliver a swift flurry of blows to one of the attackers.

 

Yet another set their focus on Anduin, who immediately called more Light to his hands. Once more, he released a shock of green and gold light, which shot forth from his fingertips at a moment's notice. He could feel the power surge from his heart and mind, to his hands, and out toward the very core of the advancing creature. It struck true and sent that creature reeling back and falling down the slope, as well.

 

Once they hit the bottom, they turned and ran, calling their companions - the one knocked about by the Red Pandaren, included - to flee.

 

However, there will still two of the creatures up the hill, and they were ganging up on the Black Pandaren.

 

“ Father! ” The Red Pandaren's cry was powerful and terrified. Anduin turned to find one of the monkey creatures burying the tip of its spear in the older Pandaren's back.

 

No.

 

A wordless roar burst from deep within Anduin's chest. He conjured more of the Light, more power, to his hands, which he raised to the sky, fingers curled poised like claws which he raked downwards, bringing another harsh column of fire down onto the spear-wielding monster. Flames erupted from the creature, who ripped the spear from the Pandaren's back and flailed wildly, trying to bat the fires out. Anduin's own righteous anger fueled them, and wherever the monkey swatted at them, they only grew.

 

The creature stumbled around aimlessly, completely unaware of the cliff toward which they were heading. With one misplaced step, they fell, a series of crunches signaling their fate. Anduin stopped caring to keep the Holy fires roaring.

 

By the time Anduin's creature had fallen, the Red Pandaren had dispatched with the remaining monkey-person and was now kneeling next to their father. They had a large piece of cloth bundled up and shoved against the bleeding wound. Anduin rushed to their side and dropped to his knees next to them.

 

“I'm a healer!” he called, and held his hands over the Pandaren's back. “I'm a healer. Let me see.”

 

The Red Pandaren pulled back and watched as Anduin began to cast a spell. The Healing Light was far more soothing in his hands: warm, not hot, and he could feel it coursing through him and soothing some of the pain from his own wounds even as he focused it on the Pandaren in front of him.

 

The wound began to close, but only sluggishly. In fact, it barely moved beneath Anduin's healing. The bleeding  did slow, thankfully, but it was all Anduin seemed to be able to do. He could feel himself scraping at the last dregs of his energy. Although he'd only cast a few spells, he'd poured so much of himself into them to make sure they were strong enough to do as he willed.

 

The Pandaren groaned in pain. Anduin cursed softly under his breath.

 

“There's only-” Anduin cut himself off with a harsh breath. “He'll be alright,” he murmured. “I've stopped the bleeding, but I-”

 

“I understand,” she interrupted, but her voice was kind. She  did understand, and nothing in her voice made Anduin feel chastised for being unable to heal this Pandaren’s father. “Let's get him back to the campfire.”

 

Within a few minutes, the two positioned the Black Pandaren on his bedroll, face-down, with gauze and bandages wrapped tightly around his body, to keep his wound carefully covered. Afterward, Anduin sat by the fire, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He was  exhausted.

 

A warm cup was pressed into his hands. The Red Pandaren smiled down to Anduin when he looked up, inquisitive.

 

“You are out of mana. This will help while you rest.”

 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as Anduin sipped what tasted like a sort of tea, one he was unfamiliar with. It was, he swore, one of the most delicious liquids to ever touch his lips, and thus he finished half of the cup almost instantly. The cup was, however,  huge , and Anduin doubted his own ability to finish the whole thing.

 

“Lina.” The Pandaren spoke quietly, but it was enough to catch Anduin's attention. He looked up and met the Pandaren's deep green eyes. “My name is Lina Whitepaw. You may refer to me with 'she'. That is my father, Ren Whitepaw. You may refer to him with 'he'.”

 

“Ah... Anduin,” came the Prince's quiet response. “My name is Anduin Wrynn. He.” It was almost too much to use an entire sentence to introduce himself, and he  certainly didn't want to have to bother with his full set of titles. “Thank you so much for helping me, I'm... I'm sorry I can't help your father any more.”

 

“You have been running for a long time,” she offered. “At least, you don't look like you've been getting proper bed rest every night. I can forgive you for running low on energy.” She chuckled gently at her own joke. Anduin found himself laughing gently, as well, although he sounded a good deal more sheepish than she did.

 

“It's... it's true. You see, I-”

 

She held up one large hand to quiet him, although the gesture was not harsh or angry in any way.

 

“I can tell that you are tired, little one. Get some rest. We can speak when you no longer look as though you are about to pass out.”

 

Once again, he laughed awkwardly, but she set to work giving him a bedroll, a pillow, and a blanket. When he asked if that meant she would go without a bedroll of her own, she insisted he take them, and then gestured to her own bedroll, already laid out for her use. They carried a spare.

 

It was with a warm smile that Anduin rested his head, lowering it wearily down to his borrowed pillow. He was swept off to sleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Blood, Dismembered body parts, Unreality (?), Nightmares, PTSD, emetophobia, choking/drowning, Food, Fear of death

**Author's Note:**

> tw: None applicable for the prologue


End file.
